


Rochambeau

by goatFanatic, unshakespearean (InimitableLia)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (that's only really mentioned tho), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Asshole Jefferson, Autism, Autistic Character, Child Abuse, Everyone Is Gay, Homophobia, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Mulligan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5859670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goatFanatic/pseuds/goatFanatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/InimitableLia/pseuds/unshakespearean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was pretty sure his hands had been trembling nonstop for six months—ever since January, when his father had told him he had signed him up for Camp Rochambeau. And for good reason, too: from the way his father had described it, it was meant to “fix” him. Convert him. Pray the gay away, as it were. But Rochambeau is everything but that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the american experiment begins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [consumptive_sphinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumptive_sphinx/gifts), [Maamilton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maamilton/gifts).



_Sunday, June 21st, 2015_

John was pretty sure his hands had been trembling nonstop for six months—ever since January, when his father had told him he had signed him up for Camp Rochambeau.

From the way his father had described it, it was meant to “fix” him. Convert him. Pray the gay away, as it were. The day his father had told him was the day John had most regretted coming out… well, perhaps it was the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that… every day for six months.

And today was the day he actually went.

His hands had never trembled more.

He was in the passenger seat next to his father, whom he knew without looking was grinning, no, _smirking_ in triumph. John wished he could say something snarky in response, but he was too terrified to speak a word.

_Might be the last time I’m ever able to_ , he thought bitterly. He had no idea what would happen to him at Rochambeau, but if it was anything like he knew his father would want it to be…

He had already resigned himself to not fighting. Whatever the people at Rochambeau wanted to do with (or to) him, he would go along with it. It would just make things so much easier, both there and at home. Besides… it couldn’t be that bad, could it? The brochure said the camp had been in business for over twenty-five years and accepted kids as young as entering ninth grade. There was no way it could be too dangerous.

_And these are definitely the thoughts I should be thinking on my way to a goddamn summer camp_.

“In 300 feet, turn left on Yorktown Road,” said the GPS.

His father checked the arrival time. “Almost there,” he said. His utter delight was audible. John remained perfectly silent, his tongue as paralyzed by the prospect of the camp as the rest of his body.

The road towards the camp was incredibly bumpy, and with bumps in the road came swears from Henry Laurens. It was sort of a truth universally acknowledged. When they finally did pull up, coming down a dirt driveway, John was more than ready to get the hell out of the car.

The driveway seemed littered with cars, kids and parents coming in and out. Adults in red, white, and blue tie-dyed shirts with the word “ROCHAMBEAU” in big letters were directing the new campers to put all of their luggage in two giant piles—hard luggage and soft luggage—next to a picnic table. John could see through the trees that the camp bordered a giant lake, and, judging by the current position of the sun in the sky, come evening, that lake was going to look beautiful. To the right of the pile of suitcases was a building that said DINING HALL, with an offshoot that said CAMP OFFICE. On both sides there were long, twisting dirt paths that led who only knew where.

A woman came up to their car and tapped on the passenger window for them to roll it down.

“Hi there!” she said brightly. “My name’s Rachel; I’m one of the staff. Welcome to Camp Rochambeau!”

“Thanks,” John mumbled nervously.

“What’s your name?” Rachel asked.

“John,” John said quickly. “John Laurens.”

“Alright then! I assume that’s your dad back there? Hiya! So the way this works is that I’m gonna help John get his things out, and then you’re gonna wave goodbye and head out, so we can keep the line moving.”

His father looked confused. “What, I don’t help him get settled or anything?”

“Nope,” Rachel replied. “We’ll take care of all of that for you.”

Henry shrugged. “Works for me.”

_Figures_ , John thought as he got out of the car. He opened the trunk and, with Rachel’s assistance, removed his suitcases from the car.

“Is that everything?” Rachel asked. John nodded. “Fantastic! Mr. Laurens, we’ll see you at the end of the summer!”

John waved, trying to look cheerful, but couldn’t help but sigh in relief once the car was out of sight.

“So John, how old are you?”

“Sixteen,” John replied. “Going into junior year.”

“Alright, so you’d be in our senior program. George is your head counselor. Great guy. Now, you’re gonna go put your luggage on the giant piles and then you can go mingle with the other kids before orientation.”

_Last moments of freedom_ , John inwardly sighed as he put his suitcases on the piles. He looked around to see if anyone seemed friendly.

A car pulled up and someone around John’s age stepped out. Suddenly two others were rushing up to the car, whooping.

“HAMILTON IN THE HOUSE!” one shouted. A few of the others cheered.

_People come back here?_

“Yo, gimme some space, man!” Hamilton laughed as two of the others crowded him—including the one who had shouted.

“We haven’t seen you in a year,  _mon ami_ ,” the other one said in a very heavy French accent.

“Alright, alright, fair enough. Still, at least let me put my bags down.” He pushed past the others and tossed his things onto the pile.

And suddenly he was walking up to John.

“Haven’t seen you before,” he said. “Name’s Alexander Hamilton. You can call me Alex.”

“John. John Laurens.” They shook hands.

_Fuck he’s cute. This’ll be fun._

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Alex. “Don’t worry—I had that same face when I came here for the first time. Scared of what’s gonna happen, yeah?” John nodded. “This place isn’t what you think it is,” Alex said with a grin _oh fuck that smile_. “You’ll see what I mean in—” he checked his watch “—three minutes and thirty-one seconds.”

“What happens then?” John asked.

“Orientation,” said Alex.

The other two walked up to them. “Making friends, Alexander?” the French one said.

“I’m bound to get sick of you eventually,” Alex explained. “Herc, Laf, this is John Laurens. John, this is Hercules Mulligan and, hold on, I’m gonna do it, Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette. Most of the time we just call them Lafayette. Or Laf, but that’s an earned privilege.”

John was perplexed. Had Alex just used _singular they_?

Alex noticed John’s confused expression and grinned. “Like I said, not what you think it is.”

This was getting very, very weird.

Someone rang a bell from the doorway of the dining hall. “Orientation time,” Alex grinned. “Let’s do this.” He grabbed John’s hand and led him into the dining hall.

_And now the cute boy is holding my hand. At a pray the gay away camp. What. The. Fuck._

“Ready for this, John?” Alex asked.

“I’m so confused,” John mumbled aloud.

“ _Assurez-vous de l'attraper si il perd connaissance, petit lion_ ,” Lafayette said from behind them. Alex laughed.

“What does that mean?” John asked.

“Lafayette thinks you might faint when you walk in,” Alex explained as they walked inside.

“Why?” John asked.

“Because you probably think this is some conversion therapy thing,” Alex. “And it’s not. Look around.”

John looked around and _did_ nearly faint.

The walls of the dining hall were covered in flags. _Pride_ flags.

“What the hell?” John asked.

“Welcome to Rochambeau, John Laurens,” Alex said. His face seemed to literally light up.

John turned in circles, looking at all the flags. There were _so many_ , and not just the rainbow—he was instantly able to recognize the bisexual, pansexual, transgender and asexual pride flags… and then there were ones he didn’t even recognize.

“They have mine!” someone exclaimed. John turned to see someone pointing to a flag with yellow, white, purple, and black stripes… he was pretty sure that that was the nonbinary flag but he wasn’t quite sure. Suddenly half of the group were staring up at the flags, pointing to the flags that represented their identity.

Fainting was imminent.

“You alright there?” Alex asked from behind him.

“This—is this like some sick joke or something?” John asked, suddenly realizing that for all he knew, those flags were going to get burnt in front of all of them.

“Look at me,” Alex said softly. John turned and looked at Alex _oh fuck those eyes are possibly some of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen_. Alex took John’s hands in his. “This is completely real. I told you, it’s not conversion therapy or anything like that.”

“Then what is it?” John asked.

Alex literally _beamed_ and _okay this has to be the maximum level of cute_. “It’s a safe space, John. It’s for kids like us to learn how to accept ourselves.”

John’s heart pounded with shock. This—this was insane. Six months of fear over this camp and it _wasn’t going to try to change him?_

“Come and sit down, John,” Alex said gently. “Looks like the others have saved us a table.” Still holding John’s hand, Alex led him over to the table.

John sat down shakily, head still spinning from the shock. Alex smiled at him and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Alright, alright, alright!” John turned to see that a man in the middle of the dining hall, holding a microphone that was hooked up to a table with computers and wires. Two people who appeared to be around John’s age sat behind it.

“That’s George Washington,” Alex explained in a whisper. “He runs the camp—he and his wife do. Fantastic guy.”

“Welcome to Camp Rochambeau,” said George Washington. “My name’s George Washington and I’m one of the directors here. For some reason, everyone calls me Washington, and I see no issue with that so there we go. I see lots of new faces out here, and lots of old ones, which is absolutely fantastic. I can’t wait to get to know all of you. Now, because there are a bunch of new people, I’m gonna ask the people who’ve been here awhile to remind us what our goal is around here. On three, as loud as you can. One, two, three—”

“—RISE UP!” John nearly fell out of his seat at the sound of approximately a hundred voices shouting at the tops of their lungs. Mainly because Alex was sitting next to him and about twice as loud as the people in their near vicinity.

“A little warning would be nice,” John whispered.

“You got three seconds,” Alex pointed out.

“Touche.”

“It’s probably gonna happen again, so be prepared,” Hercules piped up.

Sure enough, Washington spoke again, “I don’t think that was loud enough.”

“Seriously?” John muttered. The other three laughed as Washington counted again, and then joined the chorus (or, in Alex’s case, overshadowed the chorus).

“Eh, good enough for now,” Washington shrugged. “By the end of the summer, I expect it to be twice as loud since you new folks will be saying it too. Got it?”

“He seems kinda cool,” John mumbled.

“Oh, yeah, he’s the best,” said Alex.

“Shhhhhh,” Hercules interrupted. “New kid needs to hear the speech.”

The four of them turned to Washington, who was now speaking. “Now, you’re all “different” in some way. Maybe you like people of the same gender. Maybe you like people of multiple genders, or all, or none. Maybe the labels people gave you at birth don’t match who you are inside. Or maybe it’s a combination of those. But let’s make something very, very clear: Those are not _the reasons you are here_. You are here not because you are “different,” but because the world around you doesn’t like you because you’re “different,” and you need a place that’s safe. And that’s where rising up comes in. When I say rise up, I basically mean four things. Number one: we learn and understand who we are. Number two: we respect who we are. Number three: we love who we are. And number four: we do everything we can to help everyone around us do the same. None of these are more important than the others, and they’re all very difficult, but here we try to make those happen together. And also have fun. This would be one awful summer camp if we didn’t have any fun, so fun is definitely on the agenda. But before we do any of that, we do have to attend to one order of business, namely that of check-in. Old-timers, you know the drill. New folks, you’re about to get a piece of paper that asks you to fill out some information. We’re going to use these papers to put you into cabins.”

A guy in one of the tie-dyed t-shirts—although his said COUNSELOR-IN-TRAINING as opposed to STAFF—came by the table where John and the others were sitting. “Oh, great,” he said loudly. “The ruffians. Do I even  _need_ to give you forms?”

“Aaron Burr, sir,” Alex said cheerfully, and then his face turned serious. “And yes, you do.”

“What are these, anyway?” John asked.

“Check-in,” Alex explained. “They don’t have adults check their kids in because they usually get all the information wrong.”

“That’s why they had my dad leave instead of getting out of the car,” John realized.

“No,  _mon ami_ , that’s not why,” Lafayette piped up. “I saw that it was Rachel helping you out. She has an eye for the adults who… ah… don’t know what they signed up for… and has a lovely habit of shooing them away before they can cause a fight.”

“Is that typical?” John asked. “Like, do a lot of kids get signed up by parents who think this place is…” he trailed off.

“About half and half,” Alex replied. “Half of the parents know what they’re doing, and half get a fantastic surprise come August.”

“Doesn’t that… make things worse, though?” John asked nervously. “Like, don’t the parents get mad?”

“Well, sometimes… but I’ve been here for years and the only kid who hasn’t been here every year moved out of the country, with their very supportive parents. Most of the parents realize they’ve been had and throw in the towel right away. And the few who keep trying give up quickly because the kids call their bullshit. That’s part of rising up. Not letting people get to you. It sounds impossible but I swear George and Martha make it happen in one summer.”

John nodded, not fully believing it, and looked down at his check-in form.

“Is this for real?” John asked. He looked at Alex, who was once again giving him that goddamn _smile_.

“Just assume that if you’re in shock over how fantastic something sounds, it’s probably for real,” Alex suggested. “That’s usually how it works, to be honest.”

John nodded and began filling out his form. “Why did Aaron or whatever that guy’s name was ask if you needed one?”

“Well, we’ve been here for years,” Alex explained, “and everyone knows we always sleep together—” Hercules snorted “—shut _up_ , Mulligan. _Anyway_ , everyone knows how close we are, _Mulligan don’t you fucking dare_ , and we always share a cabin. Hell, we’ve even stayed in the same cabin the whole time. It’s called Revolution, and it’s the place to be.”

“So _do_ you need forms?” John asked. “If everyone knows where you want to stay?”

“Well, the thing is, those forms are also used to record the names and pronouns and identities of all the campers so the staff knows, and that stuff can theoretically change over a year—”

“—A concept which Burr has never seemed able to grasp,” Lafayette interrupted, rolling their eyes.

“Exactly,” Alex finished. “Like, if anyone else had asked me that, I probably would have laughed because I know they get how important it is to give us the form every year.”

“Yo, I still don’t get how Burr managed to become a CIT,” Hercules piped up. “I mean, I get that he’s been here forever, but he doesn’t really seem fully qualified to be on staff because of stuff like that.”

Alex shrugged. “I’m sure Washington has a reason for it. Who knows, maybe Burr’s learned something for once. Anyway, there’s another reason the three of us need forms again. Yes?” He looked to his friends, who both nodded.

“Hell _yeah_ ,” Hercules said.

“What’s the other reason?” John asked. Alex motioned to where their forms were lying on the table.

“Wait— _seriously_?!” John nearly exclaimed.

“‘Course,” Alex said casually. “Listen, not many kids start in Seniors. Pretty sure everyone in Seniors this year has been here at least one summer, and we’re all close as hell. We don’t want you to feel left out. Right?” The others nodded eagerly.

_They don’t?_ “Um… wow, thanks a lot!”

“No problem,” Alex said _again that fucking smile what the hell am I going to do and now we’re in a cabin together GOD HELP ME_.

“So… do I write your names down now?” John asked.

“Do you want to?” Alex asked. “I mean, we sorta just took you in without asking—we can cross your name off if you don’t—”

“—No,” John interrupted, picking up his pen. “I _definitely_ want to stay with you.” _You and your smile oh and I suppose your friends seem pretty cool too._

_ _

“Hell yeah!” Hercules shouted as John finished filling out his form. “This is gonna be friggin’ _epic._ ”

John smiled. So far, Rochambeau didn’t seem too bad. _  
_

* * *

_mon ami_ : my friend

_assurez-vous de l'attraper si il perd connaissance, petit lion_ : be sure to catch him if he faints, little lion.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Lia here! Thank you so so so much for reading the first chapter of Rochambeau! I s2g I'm having WAY too much fun writing about "the nonexistent teenage forms of deceased old white men at a camp that isn't real," as my good friend Maamilton put it.  
> Hey, speaking of Maamilton, a huge huge thank you to her as well as Snow_Glows_Blue for beta-reading this chapter (and also for giving me the idea for this sucker in the first place)! You guys rock! <3  
> Please leave comments and kudos and things; they make me happy! Also, feel free to find me elsewhere on the internet: my personal Twitter and Tumblr are liathewhovian, and all of my creative stuff (fanfic, music, vlogs, etc.) can be found on FanFiction.net, Twitter, Tumblr, Soundcloud, and YouTube, all as unshakespearean!  
> Per a weird tradition that started like two years ago or something, I always sign off the same way online. If it doesn't make any sense to you, that's okay. It really doesn't make much sense for me either. Here goes. (And by the way, this'll show up every chapter, so get used to it.)  
> As always, love and ducks to the Lone Shippers, hugs to supporters, thanks to Eleonora, Noe, Hanul, and Kizzie, shoutouts to my chosen-sisters, and cookies for all!  
> Love,  
> Lia xxx


	2. orientation

****Aaron Burr came around again to collect their forms, sharing a terse nod with Lafayette. Alex, on the other hand, was all smiles, and by this point John had realized that this was for the sole purpose of pissing Burr off.

“So now what?” John asked once Burr had done his very best not to storm off.

“Now orientation actually starts,” Hercules replied. “And we get Washington.”

“What’s that mean?” John asked.

“So Rochambeau’s split into two programs, Juniors and Seniors,” Hercules explained. “Juniors is for kids age what, thirteen to fifteen? Something like that?”

“Technically it’s by grade,” Lafayette corrected. “Ninth and tenth graders.”

Hercules nodded. “Right, so Juniors is ninth and tenth graders, and Martha runs that program. But once you’re sixteen—that’s when age _does_ matter—you’re allowed to join Seniors. And that goes until you’re eighteen, and then you can start going through staff training.”

“This is our first year of Seniors,” Alex added. “And Seniors is run by Washington, and it’s gonna be amazing.”

“Washington… sounds like he’s a really big deal,” John mused.

“George Washington is one of the most incredible people ever to grace this planet,” Alex said, perfect gorgeous brown eyes lighting up. Lafayette groaned loudly. “What?”

“ _Je suis vraiment sûr que John ne veut pas entendre au sujet de ton petit ami_ ,” Lafayette said, smirking slightly.

Alex’s eyes popped, and then he glared at Lafayette. “ _Tu es incroyablement vulgaire!_ ”

“Do I even want to know what that meant?” John asked.

“No, you do not,” Alex said firmly. “The point is, Washington is a great guy, and being in Seniors is going to be awesome.”

“Speaking of which, I think we’re about to break into groups for orientation,” Hercules piped up. He wasn’t fluent in French, not in the slightest, but he knew Lafayette and the way they thought (not that he could talk, of course), and he most decidedly wanted to derail whatever disgusting thing they were about to say.

“Seniors, follow me!” Washington called into the microphone.

“ _We get to go to The Barn!_ ” Alex said excitedly as they started walking.

“What’s The Barn?” John asked.

“It’s like the base for the Seniors,” Alex started, speaking faster and faster the longer he talked. “The Juniors have this building called Monmouth, which is where they have their home base, but the top floor has most of the board games and the cards and the pool table, and the ping-pong table’s on the balcony, so they have to share. Legend has it that there used to be bunks on the bottom floor where the storage rooms are, but some kid named Charles Lee shit the bed and nobody wanted to bunk there again, hence the storage rooms.”

“TMI, bro,” Hercules muttered.

Alex continued as if Hercules hadn’t said anything. “Anyway, The Barn is our base, and we don’t have to share, and it’s going to be amazing.”

“Alexander,  _mon ami_ , it is a barn,” Lafayette sighed. “ _Relaxe-toi_.”

“It’s  _The Barn_ ,” Alex whined. “C’mon, Laf, you’re excited too. They’re being a buzzkill, John. Ignore them.” And suddenly Alex was _grabbing John’s hand_ and pulling him along as he half-walked half-bounced in the crowd of people  _oh my god he’s holding my hand again_.

“The Barn,” as it turned out, was not a barn. Rather, it was a wooden platform with a fabric roof and walls—a platform tent. A very big platform tent.

“Everyone come on in!” Washington called. Alex didn’t need to be told twice, rushing into the tent, John struggling slightly to keep up.

“Let’s all try to sit in a circle,” Washington instructed as the campers filed in. “Or at least the best approximation of one that you can manage.”

Alex pulled John down so they were sitting side by side,  _very close together_ , and then motioned to the others to join them.

Washington was the last to sit down, and when he did, everyone turned to look at him.

“Welcome to Seniors,” he said. “I won’t give a long speech right now, because you’ve just heard one. Instead, I would like to first hear from you. Even though I know most of you, I would like to get to know you all better. Let’s go around the circle, tell us your name and your pronouns, as well as how many years you’ve been here. Who wants to start?”

There was quiet, and then finally someone spoke. “Angelica Schuyler, she/her. This is my second year in Seniors and my fourth year overall” Everyone in the circle began to snap their fingers.

“It’s a thing we do,” Alex whispered in John’s ear. “Go with it.” John nodded and began snapping along.

When they’d finished snapping, the person to Angelica spoke. “Martha Manning, she/her. Second year overall, first year in Seniors.” Snaps.

“Francis Kinloch, he/him. Same as Martha. Second-and-first.” Snaps.

“Marie Anthony, either she/her or they/them. Fourth year here, second in Seniors.” Snaps.

“Henriette Fayton, also either she/her or they/them. Fourth year here, second in Seniors.” Snaps.

“Anastasie Fayton, she/her. Fourth year here, second in Seniors.”

“Elizabeth Schuyler, call me Eliza. She/her. Third year overall, first in Seniors.”

“Angelica’s sister,” Alex whispered to John during the snaps.

“Maria Reynolds, she/her. Third-and-first.” Snaps.

“Ben Arnold, he/him. Third-and-first.” Snaps.

“Sam Seabury, he/him, third-and-first.” Snaps.

“Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette. But I only said that to show off.” A few scattered laughs. “To you, it’s Lafayette. They/them, third year overall, first year in Seniors.”

“Hercules Mulligan. He/him, same as Lafayette.” Snaps.

“Alexander Hamilton, but you can call me Alex. He/him, third year overall and first year in Seniors.” His beam was audible as he said the last four words. Snaps.

And then suddenly everyone was staring at John in perfect silence.

“It’s your turn,” Alex whispered. “Go on.”

John’s hands trembled again. “Um… John Laurens… um… he/him… it’s my first year here…”

People started snapping, but then Eliza Schuyler began to clap. Angelica followed suit, and then Washington, and soon the whole circle was clapping, except for Alex, who was holding John’s hand and simultaneously patting his leg with the chorus.

_Let’s recap: Impossibly cute Alexander Hamilton is holding my hand, AGAIN, while the rest of the circle claps for me._

_What. The. Hell._

The clapping died down and the rest of the campers introduced themselves, but John was barely listening. Alex was still holding his hand and the clapping was still ringing in his ears and he was lost in trying to process.

“Well then, now that we’ve all become acquainted, I do have to talk for awhile again,” said Washington. “There are a few camp rules that must be made clear. The first is that respect is not a choice; it is a requirement. You are to respect the name and pronouns of every person here, whether it be camper, staff, CIT, what have you. You are not to in any way invalidate another’s identity. Is that clear?” The campers nodded. “Along the same thread, let’s talk about words for a moment. I don’t want to censor speech among campers; I believe that every person should have the right to express themself. Because of this, there are no rules regarding swears. You are free to use curse words if you choose. However, any derogatory terms, racial slurs, homo- or transphobic slurs, sexist slurs, insensitive jokes, et cetera, are strictly forbidden.”

“What about queer?” Eliza piped up. “I know Martha said something about it last summer but I forgot.”

“Queer’s a bit of a special case,” said Washington. “I am all for reclaiming it as a form of empowerment, so if you feel comfortable using the word, that’s fine. However, if you use it and another person feels uncomfortable, you are to respect that. Which brings us to the safeword.”

“The what?” John asked. He instantly felt embarrassed and turned red. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” said Washington. “It’s an excellent question. Every person’s experience is different, and everyone has different boundaries and limits. This is why we have a camp safeword. Do you know what that is? It’s perfectly fine if you don’t.” John shook his head. “A safeword is a way to quickly communicate that someone’s words or actions are making you uncomfortable. Our safeword is ‘hersheysquirt.’” At this the circle broke out in giggles.

“What’s… what’s that?” John asked.

Alex took it upon himself to explain, perfectly straight-faced. “Occasionally, when you fart—if you’ll pardon the word—you don’t just fart—if you’ll pardon the word—rather, you accidentally expel a small amount of fecal matter, which lodges itself in your undergarments in a most uncomfortable fashion. This fecal matter is colloquially known as a hersheysquirt.”

“Did you seriously just say _fecal matter_?” John asked incredulously.

“Why, would you rather I say that you accidentally shit your pants?” Alex replied playfully, squeezing John’s hand.

Washington watched in quiet amusement for a moment before continuing. “Anyway, we use that word to signal that things are going too far, and you are all to respect that word. Is that clear?”

Nods again. John couldn’t help but be slightly afraid of Washington. He seemed kind, but… intimidating. And he was _tall_. And he had a rather deep sort of voice and—

Alex squeezed his hand again, breaking his train of thought and _totally not sending him on another one nope_.

“Let us move on to housekeeping,” Washington was saying when John finally managed to come back to reality. “When you go to lunch today, there will be a sheet posted on the bulletin board with your cabin assignments. There will also be signs posted on the door of each cabin. If there is any problem with your cabin, please let myself or Martha know so we can ensure everyone is comfortable. Curfew for Seniors on weeknights is 10:30 PM, with lights out by 11.”

“WHOO!” Alex shouted. Everyone stared at him. “What? 9:30 curfew sucked!”

Washington chuckled. “You’ve been saying so since day one, so I think I’m aware of that, son.”

At the word _son_ , John flinched. _Fuck no no no no focus, John, focus, it’s not_ —another hand squeeze from Alex _how does he always know when to squeeze my hand like what is this?_

“On Friday nights, there is no technical curfew but there will be no remorse for those who are tired and miserable for the entire weekend, and if you miss your job—more on that later—you will still have to work a penalty crew. On Saturday nights, curfew for all campers is 11, with lights-out by 11:30. Quiet talk is permitted after lights-out on any night, but you are not to disturb anyone else’s sleep. Now let’s talk about jobs…”

John listened intently as Washington went into detail about, well, everything. From the way Washington spoke, it sounded as though every aspect of camp was perfectly organized, perfectly planned. It was comforting—John liked things to be planned—and also scary. What if he did something wrong?

“Let’s see… is there anything else? Oh. Yes. Hm. Alright. You are all teenagers, and I am allowing you to choose with whom you cabin. I am not an idiot. I am perfectly aware of some of your motivations in making those selections. And… I’m not going to try to stop you. I am old, you are fast, the woods are big, and quite frankly, I don’t really care. The entire purpose of this program is to help you become more comfortable with who you are, and you are all between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, which means that legally you can do whatever you want…” He trailed off and then pointed to a little bit of hay in the corner. “There’s a box under there. Be smart. _Do not be a knucklehead_. And if I find out that any of you have done anything with a Junior, there will be severe consequences… and if you are ever made uncomfortable by another person, whether it be camper, CIT, or staff, tell me immediately. All clear?” Nods again. “Well, I think that wraps up orientation. You’re free to go do what you like until lunchtime, except for the climbing wall and the waterfront as neither are currently staffed. They’ll be open later.”

Alex stood up immediately and extended a hand for John to take. “Fellow Revolutionaries, shall we show our new friend around?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Lafayette replied, standing up as well, their fingers laced with Hercules’s.

John still hadn’t taken Alex’s hand, as he was quite occupied by merely staring at it.

“Well, come on!” Alex laughed, wriggling his fingers ever-so-slightly. John nodded and allowed Alex to help him up.

“Wait,” Washington interrupted, coming closer to the quartet. “John, can we speak for a moment?”

John tensed. “You’re not in trouble,” Washington said gently. “I just want to have a conversation. Is that alright?”

“It’s okay,” Alex said encouragingly. “We’ll wait for you outside.”

John nodded and slowly began to walk towards Washington, who waited until everyone had left before speaking. “Well, first of all, it’s lovely to meet you,” he said. He extended a hand for John to shake. His handshake was strong, firm, and John was still scared. “Now, let’s talk, son.”

John’s reaction was instantaneous, habit, reflex—heart racing and pounding against his ribcage, pupils dilated, ready to run away or, more likely, back up against the wall and beg for mercy.

“Hey—hey, did I say something wrong?” Washington asked. “It’s okay if I did.”

John shook his head, trying to calm down but failing. “I–I’m fine, I—”

“John,” Washington said softly, “it’s okay if something I said made you uncomfortable. I won’t be mad if you say, _Washington, that upset me_. But I need you to be honest with me.”

John gulped before speaking. “I—well, the thing is—my dad calls me… _that_ … and it usually means that I’m in trouble and—” He broke off, hands trembling.

Washington nodded. “Well then, I’ll be sure not to call you that again. Even if you are in trouble—which I highly doubt will happen, since you seem like quite a lovely young man—” John flinched again. “Is that another one you don’t like?” John nodded. “Duly noted. No calling you the homophone of the thing in the sky, and no calling you the addressee of YMCA.” John had to ponder that last statement for a second, and then laughed, humming the song to himself. Washington smiled, and then stepped back to demonstrate his prowess at YMCA-ing.

John was in stitches. “This—this is not at _all_ what I expected this place to be like,” he said amidst laughs.

Washington smiled again. “Well, I hope it’s a good surprise.” John nodded. “I’m proud of you, John. Very proud.”

“Wait—why?” John asked.

“Remember what I said about rising up? Four parts: knowing yourself, respecting yourself, loving yourself, and trying to get others to do the same. You just showed me two—knowing yourself, knowing what makes you uncomfortable, and communicating that to me so I wouldn’t keep doing it—in the span of about three minutes and you’ve been here maybe an hour. And that’s fantastic. You’re already doing so well.” He extended a fist for John to bump. “Well done,” he said as they pounded it. “Now, back to what I was going to tell you: I know you may be a little nervous. You’re new here, and everyone else in your group has known each other for at least a year or more. You had no idea what this place would be like because you thought it was something else entirely. But I can assure you, you will be fine. I noticed you’ve become friends with the Revolutionary Set, as they’re so determined to call themselves, yes?” John nodded quietly. “They’re good people. Especially Alexander. He may not seem it, and some might even say the contrary, but Alexander is incredibly loyal to those he cares about, and I can already tell he cares about you. It sounds cheesy, but you are safe here, John Laurens.” Silence hung in the air for a moment. “Now for the love of gay, get out of here. Your friends are waiting.”

* * *

_je suis vraiment sûr que John ne veut pas entendre au sujet de ton petit ami_ → I am quite sure that John doesn’t want to hear about your boyfriend.

_tu es incroyablement vulgaire!_ → you are incredibly vulgar!

 _mon ami_ → my friend

 _relaxe-toi_ → chill out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Lia here! Sorry this took awhile to upload; I had a ton of other stuff going on! It may be awhile before I update again, idk though.  
> This chapter marks a Major Lia Milestone! If you've ever read my work on fanfiction.net, you know that I like to drop arbitrary pop culture/fandom references in the middle of my writing, and there is one in this chapter! Points to anyone who can catch it! I'll give you one hint: if you get the fandom correct, you'll know who it is! ;)  
> In other news, THANK YOU to everyone who's left kudos and comments on this work! I've never had so much positive feedback in 3.5+ years of fanfic writing so it's an awesome feeling! And also huge thank yous to the people who have been nice to me on Tumblr, especially nonbinarybabe (willsolqce on Tumblr) who OFFERED TO DRAW FRIGGIN FANART! LIKE WHAAAA?!  
> Also, HUGE thank yous to the many, many beta-ers of this chapter: Maamilton, cellardoors_and_petrichor, AuroraSanders, hamlinton_lord_wholock221, and maybe others; I might have missed some because I'm tired! xD (especially cellardoors_and_petrichor and AuroraSanders for assisting me with French translation!)  
> Finally, @ the tumblrfolks who gave me ideas for stock characters, if your character hasn't shown up yet, they will; I promise! (Thanks guys!)  
> And, as always, love and ducks to the Lone Shippers, hugs to supporters, thanks to Eleonora, Noe, and Kizzie, shoutouts to my chosen sisters, and cookies for all!  
> Love,  
> Lia xxxx


	3. the story of tonight

“There you are!” Alex said brightly when John exited The Barn. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” John replied, which was actually somewhat true.

“Told you Washington wasn’t that bad,” Alex grinned. “So, John Laurens, are you ready for the grand tour of the camp of all things gay?”

“Hey, that’s _my_ thing!” Hercules protested.

“Oh, come on, you can’t copyright phrases,” Alex whined. “Ready, John?”

John nodded. “Definitely—ah! Alexander!” He nearly fell over as Alex grabbed his hand and raced down the path out of the woods.

“Bro, wait for us!” Hercules called from behind. Alex reluctantly slowed down, allowing John to catch his breath.

Alex checked his watch. “It’s already almost eleven, Herc! Brunch is in half an hour and then—”

“—And then there will be many, many hours left in the day to show John around,” Lafayette interrupted. Alex pouted. “Do not make that face, _mon ami_. Come. Let’s make the most of the half-hour we have.”

For the next half-hour, John was in heaven, contentedly trotting at Alexander’s side as his tour guide pointed to this and to that—that is, with the hand that wasn’t busy intertwined with John’s own—often telling detailed anecdotes regarding each location. John was quickly realizing that he could listen to the other talk for hours and never get bored.

“We should probably head back for brunch,” Hercules pointed out when Alex stopped for breath.

“Hungry?” Alex asked, squeezing John’s hand. John’s stomach growled on cue. “Asked and answered. Let’s go.”

When they arrived at the dining hall, there was already a long line of campers forming outside the closed doors. “It smells amazing,” John marveled as they approached.

“Oh, yeah, the food here’s awesome,” Alex agreed. “Little worse than a great place with bad food.”

“A bad place with great food?” John suggested.

“Touché, dearest Laurens, touché,” Alex grinned. John’s stomach flipped over on itself at his words, flipping once again when Alex squeezed his hand again.

He had to very reluctantly let Alex’s hand to serve himself food—and there was a _lot_ of food. When Alex said brunch, he meant _brunch_. There was _so much food_. John couldn’t help but take a little bit of everything and pile it up onto his plate.

“Hungry, are you?” Alex asked, peering over John’s shoulder as they reached the end of the line.

“How can I not be?” John laughed. “Everything smells so good and looks so good.”

Brunch flew by and then they were off again. “Wait, let’s check the bulletin board,” Hercules interrupted before Alex ran out the dining hall door.

Alex nodded and walked over to the bulletin board. “Oh, hell yeah—wait, no! Oh, come on.”

“What is it, Alexander?” Lafayette asked.

“Well, we’re in Revolution Cabin. That’s the good news.”

“Then what’s the bad news?” John asked nervously. _I’m probably not in their cabin._

“The bad news is we’re on breakfast crew tomorrow, so we have to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn,” Alex explained. Everyone scowled.

“Wait… am I in your cabin too?” John asked tentatively.

Alex laughed. “I said _we_ , didn’t I? That includes you too. You’re one of us now, John Laurens.” He reached out his hand towards John, who shakily stepped closer and took it. “Welcome to the Revolutionary Set.”

_I’m definitely not blushing. Nope. Not at all._

And they were off again. Their first stop, per Lafayette’s advice, was the cabin.

“Home sweet home,” Alex declared as the four of them stepped inside. John couldn’t help but grin broadly. The cabin was small, with two sets of bunk beds and a window on the back wall. “John, you can pick your bed first if you want.”

John nodded slowly and made his way over to the bottom bunk on the right-hand side of the cabin, setting his things down next to it. “Damn, these are surprisingly comfortable,” he said as he sat down.

Alex laughed as he brought his things over to John. “You must be psychic, because you picked the one bed that we usually don’t use. Well done.” He pulled out his sleeping bag and tossed it onto the bed above John’s, the other three following suit. “Shall we?” he asked.

“You two go ahead,” said Lafayette. “I think I’m going to go volunteer for the dinner crew.” They shot a grin at Hercules.

“I’ll go with Laf,” he said. “You two go.”

“Are you sure?” Alex asked. The other two nodded eagerly. “Just us then, John. That alright with you?”

 _More than alright._ “Um… sure, I guess.”

Alex grinned broadly and grabbed John’s hand, leading him out of the cabin. “See you guys later!” he called over his shoulder. “So, any place in particular you want to see?”

John shrugged. “Um… is there anywhere we haven’t gone yet?”

“Not really, no,” Alex admitted. “Anywhere you want to go back to?”

John knew instantly where he wanted to go, but he was embarrassed to say so. Sure, this was “the camp of all things gay,” as Alexander had dubbed it, but was it the camp of all things openly bashing gender roles?

 _Alexander won’t judge me_ , he decided. “I kinda want to checkout that round building by the lake.”

“Ooooooh, the conservatory, great idea,” Alex replied cheerfully. “You like art?”

 _Yes, but my father never let me do much with it. Too girly._ “Yeah, but I don't get much time for it.”

“Well, time is something we have,” Alex said with a grin, and he began to lead John towards the conservatory, a giant round building almost all made of glass and with tables for nearly every kind of art imaginable. “Personally, I prefer writing to art, but I’ll occasionally draw a thing or two,” said Alex. “You?”

“Yeah, I like to draw too. Occasionally paint. I really like drawing turtles… not entirely sure why.”

“Turtles are cool,” said Alex. “Well, I’m going to take advantage of this pretty space to write a little bit. You go draw turtles.” He gave John’s hand another squeeze and then walked over to a nearby chair. John watched as he produced a journal and pen from seemingly nowhere and began to write.

He looked around the room for a place to sit down, but there were other campers everywhere and he was nervous.

 _You’ll have to make friends eventually_ , he told himself, and so he made his way over to a table that seemed promising.

“Hey,” said one of the girls at the table. John recognized her as Eliza Schuyler. “John, right? The new Senior?” John nodded nervously. “Come sit!” she said brightly, moving a little so John could sit down. “So, you like to draw?”

“Yeah,” John mumbled. “I don’t draw very often though…”

“Why not?”

 _Because my father’s an ass who doesn’t let me do anything that seems not masculine._ “Not sure… just never get the time to,” he said again. He snuck a peek at Eliza’s drawing. “Whoa, that looks amazing! How did you get the colors to blend like that?”

“Oh, I use watercolor pencils,” she explained.

“Watercolor pencils?” John asked. “What are those?”

Eliza’s eyes widened. “You’ve never heard of watercolor pencils?” John shook his head. “Alexander Hamilton, did you hear this?” Eliza called.

Alex looked up. “What?”

“Your new roommate doesn’t know what watercolor pencils are!”

Alex faked a gasp. “A tragedy.”

John’s face fell. “Is… is that really a tragedy?”

“What? Oh. Ignore Alexander; he likes to show off. No, it’s not a bad thing, but for heaven’s sake it must be amended. Here, I’ll show you.”

Watercolor pencils, John decided ten minutes later, were absolutely magnificent. He wasn’t sure how he could apply their use to turtle-drawing yet, but he did have some fun drawing the lake. And the sky. And then a few turtles…

_~time skip to a few hours and turtles later~_

A tap on John’s shoulder caused his hand to slip. “Oh, crap, I’m sorry,” said Alex from behind him.

“You scared me,” John muttered. He _really_ didn’t like it when people touched his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said again. “Didn’t mean to scare you. It’s dinner time.” He offered a hand to John _dear god Alexander stop being so perfect and charming_.

“Thanks,” said John, trying not to blush. _For fuck’s sake, calm down. You’ve known him for four hours._

“Is the food always as good as it was at brunch?” John asked as they walked (yes, holding hands) towards the dining hall.

“Hell yeah,” Alex grinned. “And the best part is, the kids are the ones who do all the cooking, and it still tastes better than your average cafeteria.”

John laughed at this and dared to give Alex’s hand a squeeze. Alex grinned and squeezed back and _did he just pull me closer to him or…?_

By the time they neared the dining hall, they were shoulder to shoulder, fingers intertwined, and possibly garnering a few strange looks. “Ho. Ly. Fuck.” John deadpanned as the smell of… “Is that mac and cheese?”

Alex inhaled deeply. “Yep, and _it’s not Jefferson’s_.” Alex smirked, although John wasn’t sure why.

“Who’s that?” he asked, looking for clarity.

Alex turned slightly so they were face to face. “Y’know how Burr’s kinda an ass?”

“Yeah?”

“Jefferson is another CIT, and he's about… ten billion times worse. Class-A douchebag. How he’s still here, I have no idea. I suppose he’s even better than Burr at kissing Washington’s ass—ew, no, I take that back. _Never fucking mind._ ” The two shared a grimace, and then a smile. “Anyway, you’re probably wondering how this even vaguely relates to mac and cheese. Well, one year Jefferson was in charge of one of the meal crews, think it was either last year or two years ago, and he had decided that dinner was to be mac and cheese. It was possibly the most disgusting thing I had ever eaten. Since then, a few CITs and even some of the staff have made a point of making _really good mac and cheese_ every now and again just to spite him. It’s beautiful. And we get a hell of a good meal out of it.”

John laughed. “That is amazing.” _Wish I could pull revenge on my dad like that._

“Revenge is sweet, dearest Laurens,” Alex grinned. _Fucking hell if he keeps calling me that, I will kiss him out of nowhere._ “Or, in this case, gooey and covered in cheese that doesn’t come pre-sliced in a Kraft package.”

“He used _Kraft_?!” John nearly gagged, half-thankful for a reason to stop thinking about how goddamn cute Alexander was. “ _Ew_. That’s not even _cheese_.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Alex said emphatically, squeezing John’s hand again. _There goes not thinking about how cute he is._

“Oh, poo, the doors are still closed,” Alex half-whined. “Ah well, at least we’re near the front.”

A few moments later, the door opened and Rachel, the staff member who had helped John out of the car, stepped out.

“Hey everyone!” she said cheerfully. “Dinner is served! Tonight we have mac and cheese, as well as some salad and veggies. For now, please only take one scoop of mac and cheese and one scoop of veggies, but I’m pretty sure there’ll be seconds. Enjoy!”

“God bless Rachel Faucette,” Alex laughed as they went inside. “The head of the meal crew is always the one to let us in—”

“—which means that she was the head of the meal crew, which means the mac and cheese was her idea,” John finished. “Fantastic.”

“Camp Rochambeau, land of the free and home of the shade,” Alex quipped. “Ooooh, that belongs on a t-shirt. I’ll talk to Herc about it. His dream is to become the first trans black male fashion designer, or at least one of the first, and I’m about 99.999% sure he can pull that off. The guy’s fantastic.”

“Hercules Mulligan, making fashion history one bad camp t-shirt at a time since 2016,” John declared playfully.

“One could say he’s… _going the distance_ ,” Alex replied without missing a beat.

“ _Did you just_ —”

“—Oh, _I did just_.”

“ _He did just_ what?” John and Alex turned to see that Lafayette and Hercules were behind them.

“Um… nothing,” Alex said quickly, stealing a wink at John. _Alexander Hamilton, you are the worst._

“John, did he just make a Hercules pun?” Hercules asked. He and Lafayette both gave John _A Look_.

“Um… maybe?”

“John, you traitor,” Alex chastised.

Lafayette rolled their eyes. “Alright, Alexander, time to—how you say— _confess_. What was the pun _this_ time?”

“… go the distance,” Alex sighed.

“But, in his defense, he was singing your praises, no pun intended,” John piped up. “Telling me all about your fashion dreams, which sound awesome, by the way.”

“Aw, thanks bro,” Hercules grinned, giving Alex a pat on the back.

Alex grinned at John. “Okay, not a traitor,” he said.

“Oh, thank god,” John fake sighed in relief. He took a bite of mac and cheese. “Holy crap on a cracker, this is good shit.”

“Mac and cheese is a craft,” Alex said solemnly, “one which includes no Kraft.”

“So quick-witted,” Lafayette said half-teasingly.

“Alas, I admit it,” Alex replied. _Frickin’ hell, Alexander, is everything about you perfect?_

John’s train of thought was interrupted by Washington’s voice in the microphone. “Alright, everyone, if we could pause conversation for a bit to hear some announcements, that would be great, thank you. First, a few announcements about this evening. After dinner, there will be a campfire at the firepit outside Monmouth. Curfew for Juniors is at 9:30 and for Seniors it’s 10:30. That’s all I have. If anyone else has an announcement, please come forward now.”

“Laf, don’t you have to announce Showcase?” Alex asked.

“ _Oui_!” Lafayette said excitedly. They jumped up and went over to the quickly forming line of people who needed to make announcements.

After a few other announcements, mainly regarding “call times” for various crews (Alex groaned loudly when it was announced that breakfast crew call was 6:30), Lafayette had their turn with the mic.

“ _Bonjour_!” they said cheerfully. “ _Je m'appelle_ Lafayette, and it is my pleasure to announce that Showcase is back!” Cheers erupted at some of the tables. “For those of you who don’t know what Showcase is, Showcase is an all-day workshop for campers who don’t have the, how you say, _resources_ , to express their gender identities the way they want to. All day long, there will be friendly staff, CITs, and campers helping anyone who needs help. There also is a clothing swap for anyone whose, how you say, ah, _dolts—_ I mean _adults_ , sent them with clothes that they don’t like. There’s going to be a box with garbage bags on the table by the bulletin board. Grab a bag, put the clothes that you don’t want in, and bring them to breakfast. In the afternoon, you’ll all be able to pick out clothes that you like, courtesy of your fellow campers! Which means… we’ll need volunteers, both on meal and cleanup crews and to help sort through the swap clothes. Please come by and help out! Thank you!” Once again there were cheers.

“Whose idea was that?” John asked quietly.

“There was always a workshop for noncis kids to get help at the beginning of camp,” Alex explained. “But Laf thought it would be fun to turn it into more of an establishment, so they went to Washington and now it’s an all-day event, culminating in the first dance of the summer.”

“That’s awesome!” John grinned broadly. _This place is too damn amazing._

Lafayette returned to the table and sat down. “Nice pun, by the way,” said John. “And this whole Showcase thing is awesome.”

“ _Merci_ ,” said Lafayette. “Shall we head out, or does anyone want seconds?” The other three shook their heads.

“The sun will be going down soon,” Alex noted as they bussed their plates. “It’s beautiful when you look over the lake. Want to come see, John?”

John nodded, but his heart was racing, as was his mind. _Is he trying to flirt with me? Does he have any idea how romantic he’s being?_ “Sure.”

“You two go,” said Lafayette. “I wish to, how you say, kick Hercules’s ass in Scrabble.”

“Seeya later,” Alex said brightly. He smiled and took John’s hand again, leading him to the docks just outside the dining hall. Indeed, the lake was already beginning to light up beautifully.

They walked out to the edge and sat side by side. Alex took his shoes off and set them behind him so he could dip his toes in the water. “Mmmm, it’s nice,” he hummed. “I sincerely hope you plan on dipping your toes in as well, because otherwise I might have to splash you.”

“Mean,” John muttered, but he took his shoes off and let his feet dangle in the water as well, which was in fact quite nice. Alex was still holding his hand, but John wanted to scoot closer _so badly_ … there was a part of him wanted to go so far as to rest his head on Alexander’s shoulder, _fucking hell John get it together!_

_But he’s just so—_

“Beautiful,” he whispered, realizing his mistake seconds later. _Fuck._

“I know, right?” Alex replied, and thankfully, he was staring directly at the sunset. _That was close._

 _Snap out of it, Laurens. You’ve known him for_ **_literally less than a day_ ** _and no, “love at first sight” isn’t a thing._

_A crush at first sight is, though. I can have a crush on him._

_Fine, but only a crush._

_… define “crush.”_

“Earth to John,” Alex half-sang, poking his arm gently. John reluctantly emerged from his reverie. “It’s almost time for campfire. We can’t miss campfire.”

“Alright,” said John. He stood up slowly, still staring at the last bits of light over the lake, and then allowed Alex to lead him away.

They arrived at the giant firepit at the bottom of the hill—Bunker Hill, John believed it was called. At the top of the hill stood Monmouth, which seemed almost to spit campers as they came down the stairs to the top level in droves. “Must’ve been playing Cards Against Humanity,” Alex mused. “That always draws a crowd.”

“What’s that?” John asked.

Alex’s eyes widened. “ _You don’t know Cards Against Humanity_? Okay, that’s it, I’ve made an executive decision: we are having major cabin-mate bonding time after campfire, and we are going to play Cards Against Humanity. End of story.”

“Alright then,” John laughed. Alex gave his hand a friendly squeeze and led him to sit by the fire, which was just starting to spring up.

“The first campfire of the summer is always the best,” Alex explained as they sat down next to Lafayette and Hercules. “Laf, Herc, we’re playing Cards Against Humanity tonight. John’s never played before.”

“Seriously?” Hercules asked. John nodded. “Damn. We’re definitely playing.” Lafayette nodded eagerly in agreement.

The area around the firepit quickly filled itself with campers and staff. Washington and Martha found themselves a place side by side.

“I think we’re about ready to get started,” said Washington. “Now for those of you who are new, three years ago, two of our campers—Angelica and Eliza Schuyler—started a tradition of singing a song together at the first campfire of the summer. Angelica, Eliza—”

“And Peggy!” Angelica interrupted.

“What?” Washington asked.

“Peggy’s singing with us too,” Eliza explained.

“It’s perfect,” said Angelica. “We’ve been looking for an alto to sing with us for ages—there’s only so much that a soprano 1 and soprano 2 can do—but as soon as we say we’ll need help arranging the part, nobody’s an alto.” A few people laughed. “But Peggy has been excited to sing with us for ages, and so they’re joining us as our alto.”

“And their ukulele player!” Peggy piped up, holding up said instrument.

“Yes, and our ukulele player,” Eliza smiled.

Washington smiled warmly. “So then, without further ado, Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy Schuyler!”

The trio sat close to each other, Peggy squished in between their sisters with barely enough room for their ukulele. “Ready, Pegs?” Eliza asked. Peggy nodded eagerly and began to strum their ukulele. A few seconds later, Angelica began singing.

 _You can be amazing_  
_You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug_  
_You can be the outcast_  
_Or be the backlash of somebody's lack of love_ _  
Or you can start speaking up_

 _Holy fuck_ , John thought to himself. _She’s amazing_ —and suddenly Angelica and Eliza were singing in harmony and that was possibly the most incredible thing that John had ever heard…

 _Nothing's gonna hurt you the way that words do_  
_When they settle 'neath your skin_  
_Kept on the inside and no sunlight_  
_Sometimes a shadow wins_ _  
But I wonder what would happen if you_

As they reached the chorus, John truly understood why having an alto made such a difference. Angelica and Eliza were beautiful together, but to have the third, lower voice sent the entire thing over the edge. Had John not been gay, he probably would have kissed all three.

 _Say what you wanna say_  
_And let the words fall out_  
_Honestly I wanna see you be brave_  
_With what you want to say_  
_And let the words fall out_ _  
Honestly I wanna see you be brave_

Peggy got a turn with the mic, singing solo as their sisters got everyone to start snapping along.

 _Everybody's been there,_  
_Everybody's been stared down by the enemy_  
_Fallen for the fear_  
_And done some disappearing,_  
_Bow down to the mighty_ _  
Don't run, just stop holding your tongue_

Fun fact: hearing a soprano 1 and an alto sing together, such as Eliza and Peggy, without a soprano 2, such as Angelica, to bridge the gap, is a uniquely beautiful experience. John learned this tidbit the _holy fuck that’s amazing_ way as Eliza joined in.

 _Maybe there's a way out of the cage where you live_  
_Maybe one of these days you can let the light in_ _  
Show me how big your brave is_

Angelica joined back in for the chorus, and then Eliza got her turn to sing solo.

 _And since your history of silence_  
_Won't do you any good,_  
_Did you think it would?_  
_Let your words be anything but empty_  
_Why don't you tell them the truth?_

As Eliza sang her solo, voice high and clear and beautiful, John noticed that Alex was gazing at her, his eyes lighting up in a way that jabbed John’s abdomen with a blade of jealousy. He let go of Alex’s hand and folded it in his lap, cursing himself for developing a crush on someone he’d only met that day who clearly was interested in someone else.

 _Say what you wanna say_  
_And let the words fall out_  
_Honestly I wanna see you be brave_  
_With what you want to say_  
_And let the words fall out_ _  
Honestly I wanna see you be brave_

The song ended and everyone cheered, Alex’s eyes still fixated on Eliza. John clapped along and tried to smile, tried to force away pain that he wished he didn’t have, pain over what he should have considered as nothing.

“John, are you alright?” Alex asked softly. “You seem upset.”

“I—I’m fine,” John said quickly.

“Well, I know what will make you feel better,” Alex grinned. “S’mores!”

“S’mores?” John asked. “Erm… what are those?”

“WHAAAAAA?!” Alex’s eyes widened to the size of the moon, _that is, if the moon were brown and shining and perfect_. “You don’t know what those are?” John shook his head. “Oh, _John_ ,” Alex nearly cooed, and when Alex nearly-cooed, John’s heart _melted_. “Don’t worry; we’ll fix that.”

“Has he really never had a s’more?” Hercules asked. “ _Damn_.”

“Okay, could someone tell me what this is?” John asked.

Alex grinned and showed John how to roast a marshmallow. The trouble was, John kept lighting his on fire.

“Come here, _mon ami_ ,” Lafayette laughed after burnt marshmallow number five. They shifted slightly so John could come closer. “Alexander, _j'emprunte votre petit ami_.”

“ _Il est pas mon petit ami!_ ” Alex protested.

“ _Il n'a pas encore_ ,” Lafayette said smoothly. “Anyway, John, watch me.”

John watched Lafayette intently and copied them, and soon each had a perfectly roasted marshmallow. “Yay!” Alex cheered. He helped John squish the gelatinous goodness in between graham crackers and chocolate.

“So this is a s’more.” John took a bite. “Holy f—ricative,” he said, catching himself before he swore. Alex looked at him incredulously. “What? So I use a word to describe a certain class of consonants as a curse word. Is that a problem?”

Alex grinned broadly. “Not in the slightest, dear Laurens. It’s fantastic. _Fricking_ fantastic, as it were.” John groaned loudly.

At least three s’mores later as well as a few fantastic ghost stories (including one from Hercules featuring a vengeful gay goblin which was equally hilarious and terrifying), the campers disembarked. “Some people go to Monmouth to brush their teeth and shit,” said Alex, “but we use the little spigot next to the cabin.”

“Spigot?”

“It’s like an outdoor faucet,” Alex explained. “Here, I’ll show you.” He took John’s hand again and began to lead him back towards the cabin circle.

“The Schuyler sisters… they’re really amazing singers,” John mused.

“Siblings,” Alex corrected. “Peggy’s agender.”

“Right, sorry,” John mumbled.

“Hey, it’s alright. When I first met Laf, I was terrible at using singular they.”

John nodded. “Eliza’s really pretty,” he said carefully.

“Oh, yeah, she’s beautiful,” said Alex. “I asked her out last summer—” John’s heart sank “—but it didn’t work out. It’s alright. I’ve moved on.”

John had to keep himself from cheering.

“Anyway, I think it’s high time we play Cards Against Humanity,” Alex declared.

_~time skip to a few hours and games of CAH later~_

“Alright, we really should get some sleep,” Hercules said pragmatically. “We have to wake up early, remember.” Alex groaned. “Oh, please, Hamilton, like you actually sleep.”

“Fine,” Alex muttered. He looked over at John, who had fallen asleep about half an hour prior… on his shoulder. “John,” he said softly, “time for bed.”

John mumbled something and then opened his eyes. “Whaaa?”

“We’re all heading to bed,” Alex explained, “and as much as I don’t mind your using my shoulder as a pillow, I do need to head up to bed myself.”

It was only then that John had realized that he had fallen asleep on Alex’s shoulder. “Oh—shit, I’m sorry, Alexander—”

“No need to apologize,” Alex said gently. He stood up and offered John a hand, which John took, but before John could let go, Alex had raised John’s hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “Goodnight, John,” he said, and he climbed up to his bunk, leaving John speechless as he crawled into his sleeping bag.

“Goodnight,” he finally managed to get out, but he was sure Alexander couldn’t hear him.

He rolled so he was facing the wall and reflected on the day, how incredible it had been. _You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe_ , echoed Alexander’s voice, Washington’s voice, an echo surrounded by laughter and music and watercolor pencils and amazing food and _Alexander Hamilton_ —Alexander’s eyes and laugh and smile and voice and their fingers laced together…

Within a few minutes, he was sound asleep, dreaming of being curled up against his new friend as they watched the sunset.

Alex, meanwhile, had just fallen asleep himself, dreaming of stars, of constellations, beautiful and perfect, all made out of the freckles on John Laurens’s face. _Someday, I will count and kiss every single one._

* * *

_mon ami_ : my friend

 _oui_ : yes

 _bonjour_ : hello

 _je m'appelle_ : my name is

 _merci_ : thank you

 _j'emprunte votre petit ami_ : I'm borrowing your boyfriend.

 _il est pas mon petit ami!_ : He's not my boyfriend!

 _Il n'a pas encore_ : He's not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Lia here! So here’s chapter three and all. Yaaaaaay!  
> First of all, an apology for making mac and cheese the way I introduce Thomas Jefferson. I am sure I could have come up with something better, but alas, my Inner Muse told me to make it about mac and cheese and I am far too terrified of it to argue.  
> In other news, ho-ly crap, has this story taken off in ways I didn’t expect at all. Thank you so much to all of you for being supportive and lovely and wonderful!  
> I have a few shoutouts to give out to nice people. #1: the amazing orayofsunshine, who is one of the sweetest most lovely people I have ever met and super supportive and amazing. LOVE YOU! #2: the fantastic goatFanatic, whom I probably should call BRO-atFanatic, because he’s my BRO! Bro, you have given me so many ideas that if I had to pay you for every idea you’ve BRO-ught me, I would likely go BRO-ke! So um thanks for not charging me lol. LOVE YOU BRO! *all the hugs* #3: the oh-so-clever tennantive for catching the Doctor Who reference in my last chapter! *claps* it was the whole fart thing, which was an adaptation of lines spoken by Harriet Jones, the MP for Flydale North who later became Prime Minister, was deposed by the Doctor, and went on to die for the Earth. Rest in peace, Ma’am; we shall always know who you are. Finally, to the kid in my English class who, when we learned what the word “fricative” meant (well, I already knew), turned to the person next to him and deadpanned “What the fricative, man.” Props to you!  
> To all of the Tumblrfolk who’ve given me ideas for characters: if your suggestion hasn’t shown up yet, I promise they will soon!  
> Okey dokey artichokey, I will see y’alls soon!  
> As always, love and ducks to the Lone Shippers, hugs to supporters, thanks to Eleonora, Noe, Hanul, and Kizzie, shoutouts to my chosen siblings, and cookies for all!  
> Love,  
> Lia xxxxx


	4. by early light

****Alex truly didn’t have anything to complain about regarding having to be on breakfast crew. He was an early riser, and thus was already up when Lafayette and Hercules groaned themselves awake.

“Good morning, Alexander,” said Lafayette.

Hercules sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “What happened to all of the complaining about waking up early?”

“Morning to you too, Herc,” Alex said brightly. “And I never said that waking up early was a problem. I just don’t like being made to wake up early.”

“Mmmhmm.” Hercules rolled his eyes. “Someone wake John up; we have to get going.”

Alex nodded and climbed down from his bed, heading over to John’s side. “John, wake up,” he said gently. He shook John’s shoulder lightly.

Apparently, this was a terrible idea, because instead of waking up, John flinched and tried to get away from Alex’s hand. “Oooooo-kay,” said Alex. “Um, new plan… Oooooh!” He smirked.

Lafayette became concerned. “Alexander, what are you—”

“—THE HILLS ARE ALIIIIIIIIIVE WITH THE SOUND OF MUUUUUUUUUUUUUSIC,” Alex bellowed, only barely fitting the definition of singing.

“WHAT THE FUCK, ALEX?!” Hercules shouted.

Alex grinned and kept going. “WITH SONGS THEY HAVE SUUUUNNNNNG FOR A THOOOOOUUUUUSAND YEEEEEAAAAARS!”

“Shut up,” Hercules moaned. Lafayette covered their ears and shut their eyes, praying for John to wake up so Alex would stop.

“THE HILLS FILL MY HEAAAAAAAAAAART WITH THE SOUND OF MUUUUUUUUSIC—”

“—What the fuck is going on?” a sleepy voice from inside John’s sleeping bag mumbled.

“MY HEART WANTS TO SING EVERY SOOOOO—oh, you're awake.”

“Damn right I am,” John muttered. “Some alarm clock you are.”

“Well, we have to get ready to go,” said Alex.

“What time is it?” John asked.

“Quarter of six,” Alex replied.

“Ew,” John muttered. He stretched and shimmied out of his sleeping bag. “Alright, I’m up. Tell me no one gives a damn if I don’t shower.”

“No one gives a damn if you don’t shower,” the other three said simultaneously. All four of them burst out laughing.

“Seriously, the amount of showering at this camp is almost nonexistent,” Alex explained. “We all smell pretty gross come the end of summer.”

Hercules groaned again. “Bro! TM- _fucking_ -I!”

“Sorry,” Alex shrugged, clearly not sorry at all. “Come on, John, let’s go help with breakfast.”

They arrived at the dining hall and walked in to see that Aaron Burr was standing by the kitchen entrance.

“Forgot he was running the crew today,” Alex muttered.

“Don’t do the thing,” said Hercules.

“What thing?” Alex asked innocently.

“The thing where you—ugh.” Hercules rolled his eyes as Alex almost skipped over towards Burr.

“Good morning, Aaron Burr, sir!” Alex said brightly, grinning at the CIT.

“Hamilton,” said Burr, clearly unamused. He checked his watch. “Well, you’re not late. You and your ruffians, go wash your hands and then head over to the tables and do whatever Eve tells you to do.”

“So eager to get rid of us? You wound me,” Alex sighed. “Ah well.”

“Do you seriously just try and piss him off on purpose?” John asked as they washed their hands.

“Yes,” Hercules and Lafayette said simultaneously.

Alex turned to John and grinned. “Oh, I definitely piss him off on purpose, but whether or not any of it is serious… that is to be decided.” John laughed. “See? I wouldn't call any of it serious.”

They left the kitchen and walked over to the tables in front of the kitchen. “Morning, Eve,” Alex called.

A CIT with dark hair looked up at them. When she spoke, it was in a heavy Welsh accent. “Alex! Good to see you!”

“John Laurens, meet Eve Pallister, lovely CIT from across the pond,” said Alex. “She’s originally from Wales but has lived here for what, five years?”

“Six, actually,” Eve corrected.

“Eve, _ydych chi'n siarad Cymraeg_?” John asked.

Eve’s eyes popped. “I should be asking you!” she exclaimed. “How do you know Welsh?”

“I like languages,” John shrugged. _“Er, mae'r Gymraeg yn bendant yn un o'r rhai mwyaf anodd i ddysgu, ac un o'r rhai mwyaf anodd eu siarad_.”

“ _Yn dda, byddwch yn siarad yn dda iawn_ ,” Eve replied.

“ _Diolch,_ ” said John.

“Anyway, I assume Aaron assigned you to work with me?” Eve asked. All four nodded. “Lovely! We have a few of the Juniors working over there on pancake batter, so it would be great if you were to help us with the scrambled eggs… that is, assuming I can trust you with a dozen cartons of eggs.” She shot a pointed look at Alex.

“We’ll be fine,” Alex replied casually.

“Might I remind you of the last time you made scrambled eggs?” Eve retorted. “We nearly had eggshells for breakfast.”

“What if we get an extra bowl?” John suggested. “Crack the eggs one at a time into an extra bowl and check for eggshells before we put the eggs into the big bowl?”

“ _Rydych chi'n athrylith_!” Eve exclaimed. “Lafayette, would you be so kind as to get one of the smaller bowls from the kitchen?” Lafayette nodded and took off. “I like your new friend, Alex,” Eve remarked.

Hercules coughed loudly, barely masking what John thought was a “so does he.”

Lafayette returned with a small bowl in their hand. “Thank you, Lafayette,” said Eve. “Get cracking, you four. No pun intended,” she added when the four of them laughed. “And don't make a mess, either! The tabletop doesn't need its own serving.”

“I don't get it,” John admitted quietly once they had made their way to an empty table with their ingredients. “Tabletop doesn’t need its own serving?”

“She thinks Alexander is going to make such a mess that an entire serving worth of egg ends up all over the table,” Lafayette explained.

“Which totally won’t happen,” Alex called loudly.

“Yes it will,” Hercules retorted.

“Will not!”

Five minutes later, Alex was grumbling as he wiped egg off of the countertop. Some giggling cropped up from the table next to them. “What’re you laughing at?” Alex asked.

“Alexander, be nice,” John laughed. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi!” one of the gigglers piped up. “I’m Jane, and this is Phoenix and Phebe!”

“You already know me,” said Peggy Schuyler, waving from where they were dumping chocolate chips into a bowl of pancake batter.

“Jane, you look just like Maria Reynolds,” Herc mused.

“She’s my sister,” Jane explained.

“Are you all new here?” John asked.

“Yeah, first year here,” said Phoenix. “And I’m so excited for Showcase!”

“ _Fantastique_!” Laf said brightly. “What are your pronouns, _cher_?”

“They/them,” Phoenix replied. “Thanks for asking. What’re yours?”

“They/them as well, and of course.” Lafayette grinned broadly. “Are you three also participating in Showcase?”

“I am!” Peggy grinned. “‘M hoping to find a plaid shirt. Always wanted to wear one of those. Think I could pull it off?”

“Of course,” Lafayette assured them. “The whole point of Showcase is that everyone looks good in whatever they choose to wear.”

“Well, we can’t have a Showcase without breakfast.” Everyone turned to see that Eve was watching them with hands on her hips. “Conversing is lovely, but get back to work.”

“ _Oui, m'dame_ ,” Lafayette sighed, and they went back to work.

~~~~time skip~~~~

“So you have to help the kids with Showcase, yeah?” Alex asked as the Revolutionary Set ate breakfast.

“ _Non_ , Alexander; I want to help them,” Lafayette corrected. “And Hercules is helping me as well.”

“So what do we do?” John asked.

“We could use more clothes-sorters,” said Lafayette. “You two can help with that. Assuming you can fold clothes probably, Alexander.”

“Is today Make Fun of Alex Day?” Alex asked snarkily.

“Every day is Make Fun of Alex Day,” Hercules replied. Alex rolled his eyes, but Hercules ignored it. “So are you guys going to sort clothes for us?”

“Sure,” John said cheerfully. “Yeah?”

“Oh, fine,” Alex muttered, but he shot a wink at John that literally made John’s heart glow.

_This is going to be a very long summer… and probably the best one of my life._

* * *

Eve, ydych chi'n siarad Cymraeg: Eve, do you speak Welsh?

Er, mae'r Gymraeg yn bendant yn un o'r rhai mwyaf anodd i ddysgu, ac un o'r rhai mwyaf anodd eu siarad: Although, Welsh is definitely one of the most difficult to learn, and one of the most difficult to speak.

Yn dda, byddwch yn siarad yn dda iawn: Well, you speak very well.

Diolch: Thanks.

Rydych chi'n athrylith: You are a genius!

I’m pretty sure the French is easy enough to translate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Lia here! Yay, chapter four! Sorry for taking so long. :/ I hope it was worth the wait! In other news, we’ve marked another Major Lia Milestone: the first stock characters drawn from Completely Irrelevant Sources! Yahooey! :D  
> Dedicated to my dearest Maamilton, as well as my bro goatFanatic (and all of the other Weasleys, the best siblings a girl could ask for!)  
> Oh, and by the way, @goatFanatic, if you're wondering where the major fourth wall break scene we talked about is, I did write it, and will probably include it in a deleted scene compilation later on! I didn't forget you! <3 <3  
> Next chapter will include some further details on Showcase because I really want to elaborate on that :D  
> As always, love and ducks to the Lone Shippers, hugs to supporters, thanks to Eleonora, Noe, Hanul and Kizzie, and cookies for all! :)  
> Love,  
> Lia xxxx


	5. shine, part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first part of a two-part chapter! Second part is actually nearly complete so there'll be a quick update.

****The rest of the day passed in possible perfection. John spent the entire morning sorting and folding clothes in the conservatory—with Alexander right next to him. They chatted back and forth the whole time, and got to know each other far better. John learned that Alexander dreamed of being a lawyer and working in public policy to help immigrants and minorities get housing rights, was on his school’s debate, Model UN, and Model Congress teams, as well as the GSA and Diversity Committees, and was going to run for the president of Student Council that year, even though “Student Council is pretty much useless, seeing as our principal is a piece of shit and doesn’t listen to us.”

Alex was in heaven as well. He had thought that John was perfect before, with his gorgeous bright eyes and soft curly hair and _those freckles_ , but knowing who he was as a person made him all the more incredible. John loved to draw but rarely got to because of his douchebag father, but when he did get to draw, he liked to draw turtles. He liked to sing and longed to learn an instrument. His sisters Mattie and Mary had been forced into playing piano, and while Mary liked it, Mattie couldn’t stand it. He had two little brothers too, Henry Junior and Jemmy, the former of whom John enjoyed calling a dipshit, and the latter of whom, “the single most adorable child on the face of this goddamn earth… well, maybe Mary is too.” He wanted to work with kids when he grew up, as a teacher or the director of a youth center. “Or a camp like this one, come to think of it,” he mused. But most of all, John was a linguist. Alex quickly lost count of all of the languages John was learning or wanted to learn (although, thankfully, French wasn’t on that list yet), and that didn’t even include John’s knowledge of English—he was a master of etymology and loved researching idioms and phrases to see where they came from and what they meant.

“Hey, look!” Alex looked to see that John was holding up a yellow plaid shirt. “Peggy was mentioning they wanted to try wearing a plaid shirt. Think this would fit them?”

“Oooooh, that would look perfect on them!” Alex exclaimed. “Nice going.”

“Thanks.” John grinned, and his entire face seemed to light up.

_Fucking hell, Hamilton, get it together._

But he _couldn’t._ As they finished folding their clothes and headed towards the dining hall for lunch, all Alex could think of was the way John’s face had lit up, every single freckle like a star and his eyes like twin hazel suns. Without thinking, he reached for John’s hand as they reached the back of the rapidly-forming lunch line. Their fingers brushed against each others’ and Alex felt electricity course through his veins, his heart leaping when John was the one to grab Alex’s hand.

_Get it together, get it together, get it together, get us together, get us together, get us to—wait no GET IT TOGETHER. GET IT TO—fuck. I can’t get it together._

“Alexander? Are you okay?” John asked nervously.

Alex blinked a few times and turned to John, looking up into those twin-sun eyes and the suns _melted_ him. “Y-yeah. I’m okay.” _No, I’m not okay; I want to kiss you right this second and the longer I go without doing exactly that the more I feel like I'm about to explode._

“Okay, if you’re sure,” said John. He gave Alex’s hand a squeeze.

Alex had never felt more like a time bomb ticking down to an inevitable inferno.

“ _Bonjour, mes amis!_ ” Lafayette bounded over to them in line, Hercules in tow.

“Hey, Laf,” Alex grinned. “You’re in a good mood.”

“The afternoon is the best part of Showcase,” Lafayette explained. “I’m so excited!”

“What happens in the afternoon?” John asked.

“Well, we spent the morning teaching the kids about resources,” said Lafayette. “In the afternoon, they get to pick out their new clothes and makeup and whatnot and they get to shine like the stars they are.”

Their smile was infectious. Soon all four Revolutionaries were beaming. “You’re really proud of this,” John mused.

“It is my greatest achievement,” said Lafayette.

“Well, it’s amazing,” said John.

“Y’know, I played a role in it too,” Hercules piped up.

“Oh, _absolument,_ ” said Lafayette. “I couldn’t have done any of it without you.” They leaned up and pressed a kiss to Hercules’s cheek.

“Pardon me if this is a bad question, but are you two… a thing?” John asked.

“Queerplatonic,” Hercules replied. When John looked confused, Hercules continued, “It’s like… friend dating. Lafayette—do you mind if I share this?”

“Not at all.”

“Lafayette is demisexual, meaning they don’t feel attraction except to people they’ve become close to platonically—so this is basically an excuse to cuddle even though we’re not actually attracted to each other.”

“Why do you need an excuse to cuddle?” John asked, dead serious.

“Laurens, I like you a lot,” Alex blurted out, grinning.

“ _Vraiment? Je ne l'avais pas remarqué,_ ” Lafayette teased.

“There’s no need for an excuse to cuddle,” Alex continued. When John wasn’t looking, he flipped Lafayette the bird.

“I wonder what lunch is,” said Hercules, trying to hide his laughter.

“I think it’s fajitas,” John replied, blissfully oblivious to the double meaning behind Alex and Lafayette’s exchange thanks to a lack of knowledge of French. He made a mental note to himself to amend that.

“Mmmm,” Alex grinned. “I always love fajitas.”

“And these ones smell _fucking amazing_ ,” said John. “Even from here.” As they approached the door, the smell was more and more overwhelmingly delicious.

While they ate, Lafayette took the conversational stage, talking about all of the kids they had helped with finding all of the equipment they needed to express their identities, “all of those smiles, I thought I might _cry_ ,” Lafayette said, clearly holding back tears.

At lunch, they were approached by Angelica Schuyler. “Yo, I’m looking for volunteers on dinner crew,” she said. “Anyone interested?”

“Hercules and I are doing Showcase,” Lafayette replied.

“Right, right. Alex? John?”

“I’m in,” said John. “Breakfast was fun.”

“Sure, if you’re doing it,” said Alex.

“You guys are the best,” said Angelica. She hugged them both. “Dinner’s gonna be awesome, too—we’re doing curry. Eliza’s recipe.”

“Oh hell yeah, that shit’s the best,” said Alex. “She running the crew with you?”

“Yep.”

“Heaven help us,” said Alex. “Angelica and Eliza are possibly the two most terrifying people I have ever met.”

“Well, it’ll be worth it,” said Hercules.

_Definitely, if it means I get to spend more time with Alexander._

_If it means more time with John, hell, I'd work with Jefferson… probably._

“Well, crew call isn't for a few hours,” said Alex. “Laf, there's no home base meeting today, right?”

“No, too many people will be busy with Showcase,” Lafayette replied. “I can't think of any volunteer opportunities after lunch either.”

“Then we have the afternoon free,” Alex concluded.

“The waterfront will be open,” said Lafayette. “Take John down there; it should be fun.”

Alex’s mind instantly filled itself with images of playing in the water with John—splash fights and chasing each other and tapping into the giant supply of water guns in the boathouse. Trading kisses on the dock and jumping off of it holding hands.

John, meanwhile, was also fantasizing images of himself and Alexander together—dipping their toes in the water side by side and playing footsie and racing from the shore into the water. Watching the sunset over the lake and skipping stones that would look like shadows as they made their way.

“You up for that?” Alex asked, breaking John’s reverie.

“A-absolutely,” John stammered, heart pulsing at least double its normal rate.

Alex beamed. “Did you bring a swimsuit?” John nodded, slightly speechless. “Well then, let's go.”

* * *

  _Vraiment? Je ne l'avais pas remarqué:_  Really? I hadn't noticed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Lia here! Sorry for taking so long! I had a lot I wanted to include in this chapter but I felt like I was leaving you hanging so I split it. Part 2 is actually pretty close to done so the next chapter will be up soon. Call it an apology for leaving you hanging.  
> Thanks again to all of the people who have been nice and helpful—especially Lil Bro™ (goatfanatic) and my beautiful girlfriend AuroraSanders—you're amazing and ilysm xxxxx  
> Rightio, as always, love and ducks to the Lone Shippers, hugs to supporters, shoutouts to the Autism Power Squad and cookies for all!  
> Love,  
> Lia xxxx  
> P.S. New signoff! I hadn't talked to Eleonora in years and ditto @ the chosen sisters I used to give shoutouts to. Now it's the Autism Power Squad who are getting shoutouts! :)


	6. shine, part 2

Their swimsuits clung to their skin as they padded back to their cabin hand in hand. “I don't remember the last time I laughed that hard,” John declared as Alex opened the cabin door.

“Me neither,” Alex chuckled. “We should change so we're not late for crew call. Mind if we just both change here with our backs turned?”

“Sure, that's fine,” John replied. “No peeking, though.”

“Gotcha.” They changed quickly, still laughing, before making their way back to the dining hall, managing to arrive just on time.

“Ah, there you are,” said Angelica. “Can you guys cut vegetables?”

“Sure,” said Alex.

“Good. Go wash your hands and get started.” Without waiting for a response, Angelica turned away and began speaking to another camper.

When they finished washing their hands, Alex and John walked out to the dining hall again, where everyone seemed to be busy except for two people, who were arguing.

“Listen, kid, you look like a duck and you talk like a duck, so I’m gonna call you a duck,” said a tall, blond boy whom John immediately nicknamed “Gay Draco Malfoy” for the pretentious way he talked and his sneer and his fancy-looking clothes.

“Who’s that?” John whispered to Alex.

Alex grimaced. “John Adams. Total bastard.”

“Who’s he picking on?”

“Let’s find out.”

They walked over to Adams’s table to see that he was picking on a smaller camper with short brown hair.

“I’m not a duck!” protested the other. “I’m a _girl._ Why can’t you just be okay with that?”

“Listen, I’ve known you for ages and you’ve never complained about being a guy before.”

“What the hell is going on here?” John blurted out.

“This little punk is pitching a fit about wanting to be a girl,” Adams explained. “Probably spent too much time on Tumblr and now he thinks he’s a special snowflake.”

John turned to Alex. “Alexander, I’m gonna need three reasons not to punch this guy.”

“Yeah, you should,” said Adams. “Knock some sense into him.”

“I meant you, shithead,” John retorted. “This is a frickin’ safe space—”

“—Yeah, for gay kids,” Adams interrupted. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been bullied at school, how many times I’ve been told I’m gonna go to hell, how many times I’ve been sent to conversion therapy, and this kid is just making up something new so he feels special. Transgender, yeah, that’s totally legit.”

“Damn right it is,” John growled. “See that flag up there, the pink and white and blue one? That’s the transgender flag. This is a safe space for them too and I would highly suggest you shut the fuck up and leave this kid alone.”

“Or else what? What’re you gonna do to me, new kid? Yeah, you don’t know a thing about this place, do ya?”

“I’ll tell Washington,” John replied without missing a beat. “I’m sure he won’t stand for this bullshit.”

“Excuse me!” Everyone’s head turned to see Eliza, glaring at them with arms crossed. “Adams, shut the hell up and cut vegetables. One more word from you and I’ll be right by John’s side telling Washington about this shit.”

Adams muttered a few things under his breath, but did as Eliza said otherwise.

Meanwhile, Alex had turned to the younger camper. “Hey, what’s your name, and your pronouns?” he asked.

“I’m Gigi, she/her,” she replied timidly. “I didn’t realize I was trans until a few months ago.”

“If you’re trans, why aren’t you at Showcase?”

“I was on crews,” Gigi replied.

“What? No, that’s not how it works. You get exemptions if you’re on crews; I thought Laf made that clear. Come on, we’re getting you to Showcase. Eliza?”

“I heard you, Alexander. Go on, but be quick about it.”

“But that means we’re losing a crew member!” Adams protested.

“You’ll just have to do twice the amount of work, then,” Eliza snapped. “Now shut the fuck up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“She’s all set,” Alex announced a few minutes later. “Anything else I can do, Eliza?”

“We still need vegetables cut. Chop, chop. Literally. And don’t punch Adams, okay?” Eliza raised a pointed eyebrow at him.

“But _Eliza,_ ” Alex whined. “He _deserves_ to be punched.”

Eliza smirked. “Oh, I agree, but don’t you have a queue? He has to wait his turn.”

“Elizabeth Schuyler, you are a treasure to this earth,” Alex declared, and he went back to join John.

“Hello, Alexander,” John said, grinning. Alex had to remind himself not to stare, even though John’s twin-sun eyes were hypnotic, not to mention the way John said his name. Never Alex, always Alexander, the syllables rolling off of his tongue like music.

_I bet he can sing,_ Alex mused. He was sure of it.

“Hi,” Alex mumbled. “I need vegetables.”

“Well then,” John laughed. “Here you go, little rabbit.” He shoved a pile of carrots towards Alex. “Go on.”

“I’m not a rabbit, and I’m certainly not _little,_ ” Alex muttered.

“What year were you born in?” John asked without missing a beat.

“1999?”

“Exactly. 1999, or, in the Chinese zodiac, the Year of the Rabbit, and as for little, well, have you seen yourself?”

“Piss off.”

John laughed, and Alex was _sure_ that he could sing. How could he not, with a voice like that?

It was only then that he noticed his face was reddening. He started cutting carrots.

“Looks good,” Angelica praised, walking by the table. “You two are surprisingly efficient.”

“Surprisingly efficient?” John asked.

“Never mind,” Angelica said quickly.

“Well… thanks?” John said hesitantly. But Angelica was gone.

John turned to Alex and squinted in confusion. “Do you have any idea what just happened?”

“None whatsoever,” Alex replied. “People are weird.”

“You can talk,” John teased, grinning. “Nerd.”

“You know it.”

They giggled to each other, and then they were quiet, smiling at each other for just a few moments before Eliza’s voice cut through the pause, asking if they were done with those vegetables.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few hours flew by just as quickly as clothes folding had a few hours earlier, and suddenly it was 8:25.

“Almost time for the dance,” Lafayette said for the five hundredth time, bouncing up and down in their seat. “I’ve seen everyone; everyone looks so incredible!”

“They’re right,” Hercules added. “It’s going to be incredible. Showcase is always incredible. Yo, Laf, we should go and make sure all of the kids are outside and ready to come in.”

“Don’t ring the bell, if you don’t mind,” Alex said quickly. “That thing is loud as fuck.”

“Yeah, no, that was a one-time failure of an idea,” Lafayette replied. “ _Allons-y,_ Hercules.”

“Okay, does anyone actually say that?” Hercules mused. “Or is that just a thing that people have started saying since David Tennant?”

“Hercules. I am French.”

“Fair point.”

Suddenly, the lighting in the room changed so that it was suddenly dark, aggressively punctuated with colored lights, and loud music started playing. John winced, covering his ears.

“You alright?” Alex asked.

“Yeah—sensory overload… not fun.”

“I feel you,” Alex replied. “Remind me to talk to the tech crew about toning it down.”

_“Hellooo, Rochambeau!”_

“... aaaannnnd remind me to talk to Herc as well,” Alex muttered as John covered his ears again.

_“I’m Herc Mulligan, and this is Showcase 2k15! Let’s make some noise!”_

“Nooo,” John whined. “Too loud.”

“I know, I know,” Alex said softly. “It’ll be over in a second, I promise—John? John—oh.” For in those couple of seconds, John had slid off of the bench and under the table, curling up in a ball. “Hey—hey, it’s alright.” He slid down as well and sat down next to John. “What helps you when you’re overloaded like this?”

John was shocked. No one had ever asked him that before.

There was a soft chuckle from next to him. “I assume you do exactly what you’re doing right now.”

Fuck. He’d started rocking without even realizing it. He froze instantly, hoping that maybe that would keep Alexander from leaving.

“I do that too sometimes.”

_What the fuck?_

“It’s so helpful, isn’t it? Makes you focus on something else. Truth be told, the only reason I didn’t curl up under the table first is because I’m used to it by now, but it does get to me too.”

_???????????_

John continued rocking, sure that Alexander was just messing with him and wanted to see him look like an idiot, but no, _Alexander was actually rocking as well._

_There’s no way in hell that he’s—_

“It’s over,” Alexander quietly announced a few minutes later. “The music usually isn’t too loud. We can stay here for a bit if you want though, or we can go back to the cabin.”

John continued silently rocking, for once feeling not entirely terrible about taking his time, before asking almost inaudibly if the lighting would be too bright and flashy.

“No,” Alexander replied. “It mostly just changes colors and it’s not too bad. Wanna go out?”

More silence—a shorter silence than before—and Alexander waited.

“Yeah. I wanna see if Peggy got that plaid shirt.”

“Oh yeah! Alright, let’s do this.”

As a matter of fact, the dance was lots of fun once the loud flashiness had passed. Peggy was, in fact, wearing the yellow plaid shirt and had tied it up so that their stomach was showing.

“Peggy, you look fantastic,” John said.

“Thanks! I heard you found this shirt for me—is that true?”

“Yeah, I did! I’m glad you like it. And it looks really cool tied up.”

“Oh yay! I was so worried, I thought it would look a little bit bad since I’ve got a bit of a belly but Lafayette told me that I should just go for it!”

“Oh, come now,” Alex laughed. “You’re a Schuyler. Gorgeousness runs in the family.”

“Alex, I’m adopted.”

“Right. Oops.” All three of them laughed. “Well, the point is, you look awesome,” Alex finished.

John nodded eagerly in agreement. “Wear plaid more often. It suits you.”

“Thanks guys! Oooh, that’s Phee waving me over; I should go. Thanks again!” They waved and ran off.

The entire night was filled with kids running around and showing off their new outfits and complimenting each other. About halfway through the night, Gigi ran up to Alex and hugged him tightly before twirling around to show off her new dress.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Like a queen,” Alex replied sincerely. Gigi raised an eyebrow. “No, no, not like that! Like an actual queen. Or a princess. You could go to Buckingham Palace and talk in a British accent and pretend to be Elizabeth’s long lost granddaughter or something and no one would tell the difference.”

Gigi laughed. “Don’t think that would work.”

“How about you pretend to be Kate Middleton’s niece?” John suggested. “Depending on how you pretend to be related to her, that actually might get you somewhere in the line of succession.”

“Better yet, convince her to adopt you,” Alex added. “Then you’re definitely in the line of succession, and you’d even be before George and Charlotte since you’re older.”

“Honestly, I don’t really care about being in the line of succession,” Gigi shrugged. “I just want to wear fancy dresses and live in a palace and have tea and whatnot.”

“Fair enough,” said Alex. “Well, I mean it, Gigi; you look awesome.”

“Thanks, Alex,” she beamed, hugging him again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_9:15 PM_

“I’M ON THE RIGHT TRACK, BABY; I WAS BORN THIS WAY!”

They laughed as they stumbled into Revolution cabin, having just sung that song as well as “Beautiful” by Christina Aguilera and something by Beyoncé, only a _little_ sugar high.

“Are all Rochambeau dances like this?” John asked, breathing heavily.

“Pretty much,” Alex replied. “They're the best. Anyone up for Cards Against Humanity?”

“Hell yeah!” John said excitedly. The others nodded in agreement.

“We totally should make a Rochambeau deck,” Alex declared. “That would be hilarious.”

“Fuck yes,” Herc deadpanned. “But for now, we play.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_10:00 PM_

“Oh, fuck, this is a hard one,” Alex sighed. “But I'm gonna have to go with my all-time favorite card: _Two midgets shitting into a bucket._ ”

“YES!” John punched the air.

“WHAT?!” Lafayette exclaimed. “How is that better than _A middle aged man on roller skates?_ You're playing favorites, _petit lion._ I call a conflict of interests.”

“Seriously?” Hercules rolled his eyes. “It's Cards Against Humanity, Laf. There are no ethics.” Lafayette pouted. “Oh, come here,” Hercules laughed. He pulled them closer and wrapped an arm around their shoulders. “I'll play favorites next time I win.”

“You are the best, Hercules,” Lafayette cooed, kissing Hercules’s cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_10:30 PM_

There was a knock at the door. “That's someone checking that we’re all inside,” Alex explained. He jumped up and grabbed the door to reveal Rachel Faucette, the Henry Laurens banisher and Jefferson mac and cheese mocker. “Ms. Faucette,” he said somewhat grandly.

“Mr. Hamilton,” Rachel replied in the same tone. “Are all of you here?”

“Indeed, ma'am,” said Alex. The others waved from their seats on the floor.

“Alright then,” said Rachel. “Lights out at 11.”

“Noted. Goodnight, Rachel.” Alex waved at Rachel as she left the cabin. “Alright then, folks. Half an hour before lights out—let’s make this shit count.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Half an hour later, Lafayette rather begrudgingly announced that it was time for lights out.

“We can play tomorrow,” Alex said reassuringly. “Right, John?” John said nothing. “John?—oh.” For John had fallen asleep on his shoulder again, just as he had the previous night. “John, wake up,” Alex said gently. “Bedtime.”

John mumbled something before his eyes slowly blinked open. “Oh—hey… sorry for that…”

“No worries,” Alex replied. “But we do have to get to bed now.” John nodded sleepily and allowed Alex to help him up.

“Night,” he mumbled, giving Alex a drowsy but definite smile.

“Sleep well, John,” Alex said gently, and just as he had the previous night, he pressed a delicate kiss to the back of John’s hand before letting go and climbing up to his bunk.

_Is he going to do that every night?_ John wondered as he crawled into his sleeping bag. _I h_ _ope so._

“G’night, everyone,” Hercules called from his own sleeping bag. Laf called something that might have been “goodnight” in French but John was too sleepy to pay much attention.

Slowly, but surely, the Revolutionary Set drifted off to sleep: Lafayette somehow managing to sleep on their back _elegantly,_ wrapped up in what they would call a royal purple but Alex would call a most unsightly shade of eggplant, a Madeline doll whose clothes had clearly been removed and replaced nestled in the crook of their neck; John in his black sleeping bag (he _wished_ it were purple, a nice light lavender sort of purple, but _that_ was never going to happen), rolling slightly so he was curled on his side, facing the wall; Alex in a turquoise thing he proudly informed everyone was a mummy sack as opposed to a regular sleeping bag, almost rolled on his side but not quite; Hercules flopped on his stomach, right arm hanging almost concerningly out of his forest-green cocoon—or rather, mummy sack—and over the edge of the bed.

All was quiet; all was peaceful; all was calm—the perfect end to a perfect day.

And then somebody screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Lia here! Sorry for the cliffie; please don’t hate me too much. The next chapter will be about 95% pure fluff, if that makes it any better.  
> Contest time! So Alex (that is, in the story, although I’m sure if there were such a thing in the 18th century the real Alexander Hamilton would have flipped his shit) mentioned that there should be a Rochambeau CAH deck. I think there should be one too, but I don’t have the time to make it, which is why I am turning it over to you! Your challenge is to create your own Rochambeau CAH deck! Info on the contest can be found at unshakespearean.tumblr.com/rochambeaucah! Good luck!  
> As always, love and ducks to the Lone Shippers, hugs to supporters, shoutouts to the Autism Power Squad, and cookies for all!  
> Love,  
> Lia xxxx


	7. nightmares and shutdowns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the AN at the end all the way through.

Three pairs of eyes shot open and stared around, trying to discover the source of the noise.

One pair of eyes shot open as their owner sat straight up in bed and hit his head on the bottom of the bunk above him.

Three pairs of eyes filled with concern as the source became clear.

One pair of eyes filled with panic as he realized he was being watched.

It all happened at once—Lafayette turned on a flashlight, John tried to bolt for the exit, Hercules jumped down from his bunk and blocked the door, hands about to catch John as he neared impact—

_“Don’t touch him!”_ shouted a voice from above all of them.

Hercules froze, hands still in position, and looked up to see Alex, who was holding his own flashlight in such a way that his eyes seemed darker.

“What?”

Alex was quieter this time, but somehow even more forceful. “Whatever you do, _do not touch him_.”

“But I’m—”

“—I don’t care. Put your hands down.”

“—trying to keep him from—”

“—Stay by the door if you like, but put your hands down. Now.”

Hercules blinked, unused to being told what to do by Alexander Hamilton of all people, but slowly put his hands down.

“Thank you,” Alex said quietly, calmly. He wriggled out of his mummy sack and climbed down. Once again his voice became commanding. “Alright then. You two—” he motioned towards Hercules and Lafayette “—do exactly as I tell you, or else I will punch you, assuming John doesn’t first. Got it?”

Hercules and Lafayette looked at each other in nervous confusion before nodding.

“Good.” Quieter again. “Now that that’s squared away, here’s the deal.” He looked at John, who had been slowly backing away from the door and was now sitting on the floor, curled up in a ball. “First off, nobody touches John. At all. End of story. Everyone got that?” Hercules and Lafayette nodded. “John, you got that? You don’t have to talk; just give me a sign. It can be the finger for all I care.”

John didn’t give him the finger (although Alex quietly admitted that that would have been amusing); rather, he clenched his right fist and shook it twice, as though he was knocking on a door.

“Good.” Had John looked up, he would have seen that Alexander was giving him a soft smile. “I have questions that I want to ask you, but you don’t have to talk to answer them, and you don’t even have to answer them at all if you don’t want to. I just want to ask them, y’know?”

Another knock at the invisible door.

“Mind if I sit next to you? I won’t touch. I’ll stay an arm’s length away.”

Another knock.

Alex sat down in front of John, cross-legged. “So… what happened?”

John began rocking back and forth. He _wanted_ to tell Alexander what had happened, but he quite literally couldn’t speak and it drove him crazy.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” Alex said gently. “John, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

_But I want to!_ John screamed in his head, and he was _this close_ to screaming out loud, but he didn’t. He couldn’t—Alexander would hate him and leave him—

Alex watched John cautiously, trying to piece things together. Why was John made more upset by being told he _didn’t_ have to say anything?

And then it hit him: John did want to tell, and couldn’t, because he couldn’t talk and didn’t know how else to communicate.

He asked John this to confirm, quietly, and there was another knock.

Alex racked his brains, trying to think. Writing? No, he didn’t know where there was paper. No, there had to be something else, something, something—

The knocking at the invisible door.

_There’s no way—_

“John,” Alex said softly, repeated it a few times until John was looking at him.

Slowly, tentatively, he pointed to John, touched his own head, and then, quickly, curled his fingers into his palm, made the knocking hand, made an L with his finger and thumb.

_{Do you know ASL?}_

John’s eyes widened.

_[Yes! I know ASL! How do you know ASL?]_

_{I’m autistic}_

John literally beamed.

_[I am too! And Hard of Hearing.}_

Alex grinned broadly, and quickly signed _{Y-A-Y.}_

_[That explains why you understood not to touch me. Thank you for that, by the way.]_

_{Of course. So… do you want to explain what happened? You don't have to.}_

_[No, I want you to know.]_

_{Are you sure?}_

_[Positive.]_

_{Go ahead, then.}_

John nodded and began signing the story of what had happened—Alex had guessed correctly; John had had a nightmare—and as he did, Alex was torn between crying at the pain his new friend had suffered and screaming at those who had hurt John in the past, but he did neither. Instead, he sat in silence, absorbing every single word John signed until finally he finished, his eyes eclipsed with tears that streamed down his cheeks.

_{I’m so sorry.}_

_[It’s not your fault.]_

“What happened?” Lafayette asked tentatively.

_[Please don’t tell them. Either of them.]_

“Sorry, but John would rather not tell,” Alex said, not translating perfectly but it carried the message across.

“It’s okay,” said Lafayette.

Alex nodded and then faced John again.

_{You hit your head when you woke up. I want you to go see the nurse, just to make sure you don’t have a concussion}_

_[No, no, I don’t want to bother anyone or wake them up.]_

_{We have a 24 hour nurse on call. It’s their job to stay awake.}_

_[Are you sure?]_

_{Positive.}_

_[Okay, fine. Can you come with me? I still can’t talk.]_

_{I was already planning to.}_

_[Thanks, A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R.]_

“We’re going to see the nurse,” Alex announced. “We’ll be back later.”

They walked slowly out of the cabin and towards the Conservatory. “Usually the nurse’s office is in the office above the dining hall, but at night it moves to the Conservatory so it’s easier to reach from the cabins,” Alex said out loud as he pushed the door open. “See? Nobody’s being woken up.”

Indeed, there was a counselor sitting in a chair, sipping at a mug of coffee. “Hey Alex, what’s up?”

“Hello, Grace. This is John.” said Alex. He turned to John. _{This is G-R-A-C-E. She’s super nice.}_

_[Okay. Hi G-R-A-C-E.]_

“John’s nonverbal right now,” Alex explained. “I’ll be translating for him. He says hi.”

“Is he signing?” Grace asked. “Because I know some ASL too. Not a lot, but some.”

_[You know ASL too? Does everyone here?]_

_[[A lot of the counselors know a little bit,]]_ Grace replied. _[[I believe M-A-R-T-H-A is—]]_ “Fluent,” she finished.  _[[Sorry, I don’t know how to sign that.]]_

_[M-A-R-T-H-A is fluent—that's how you sign it, by the way—anyway, really?]_

_[[I think so. Anyway, what happened?]]_

_{John, do you mind if I talk out loud? It’ll be faster.}_

_[That’s okay. Both of you can if you want. I can hear; I just can’t talk.]_

“Gotcha,” said Alex. “Grace, we can talk, but John’s going to sign. Anyway, John, do you want to tell, or shall I?”

_[Tell her that I sat up in bed and hit my head. Don’t tell her why.]_

“John sat up in bed and hit his head,” Alex translated. “I’m worried he has a concussion; that’s why he’s here. Also, to be perfectly honest, I wanted to get us both away from the others for a bit.”

_[They ask too many questions.]_

“They ask too many questions,” Alex repeated. “Anyway, Grace, can you check for a concussion without touching him or shining lights in his face?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Grace. “I mean, you guys have been carrying a conversation in ASL, so I’m guessing he doesn’t, but still. John, can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up? You can sign; I know the numbers.”

_[Two. Now three. Now five. One. Four. Two again.]_

“Good. Now, do you remember what happened before you hit your head?”

_[I do, but I don’t want to talk about it.]_

“He does,” said Alex. “He told me—we signed back and forth about it.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing he doesn’t have a concussion. Yay!”

_[Can we stay here? I don’t really want to go back yet.]_

“Grace, do you mind if we stay here for a bit?” Alex asked.

“Not at all. Hey, John, question.”

_[Possible answer.]_

_[[Are you autistic? Because I am, and so is my niece.]]_

_[You’re autistic too?]_

_[[Yeah, I am.]]_

_{I’m autistic too! Autism power squad!}_

_[Y-A-Y!]_

“So I’m guessing you’re having a little bit of a shutdown, yeah?” Grace asked. “And that’s totally fine, by the way. I have them too.”

_[Yeah, I am. That’s kind of why I wanted to be away from the others. I like them but they don’t get it, I can tell.]_

_{No, they don’t. I’ll try and explain it later.}_

“Y’know, there’s a whole closet of fun stim things in the dining hall,” said Grace. “I can go get some stuff if you want.”

_[Seriously?]_

_[[Yes! What sorts of things do you like?]]_

_[Lots of blankets—especially weighted ones—and soft things. Usually I stare at a ceiling fan and that helps but there isn’t one here. I like chewing on things but I’m guessing you don’t have any of that either.]_

“Whoa, sorry, I didn’t catch all of that,” said Grace.

Alex laughed and quickly translated. “He says he likes blankets, especially weighted ones, and soft things, that usually he stares at a ceiling fan but there isn’t one here, and he likes chewing on things but he thinks you don’t have any of that, either. How wrong he is.”

_[Wait, what?]_

_{We have chewy things here too. Mostly necklaces. I’m pretty sure there’s a turtle one.}_ “Grace, do we have a turtle stim necklace?”

“I’m pretty sure we do. If we do, I can grab it, and I’ll grab a few others if we don’t. We definitely have weighted blankets and other soft things, and we also have an iPad that has a lot of cool visual stim things. John, do you like blankets that smell like things or just blankets?”

_[I like smelly things if you have them.]_

_[[Done. Back in a bit.]]_

_[She’s really nice],_ John signed when Grace was gone.

_{Isn’t she? G-R-A-C-E is fantastic.}_

_[I can’t believe you guys have stim things here.]_

_{We have almost everything.}_

_[Does that include A-S buttons?]_

_{Ew, gross. Never. I think J-E-F-F-E-R-S-O-N might have one.}_

_[Disgusting.]_

_{Indeed.}_

A few minutes later, Grace returned, three necklaces around her neck, a little bag presumably carrying an iPad over her shoulder, tugging a wagon behind her, inside of which were multiple blankets, neatly folded up… and, in the back, nestled in a little basket…

_[Is that a cat?!?!?!!?!?]_

_{Yes. Are you allergic?}_

_[No! I love cats!]_

“I thought you might,” said Grace, pulling the wagon so that it was in front of John. “John, this is Hamilton—Martha’s cat. Xe is very friendly and an excellent stim for those who like such things.”

_[His name is Hamilton?]_

_{Long story, but yes, xe is named after me.}_

_[That is fantastic. Can I hold xem?]_

_{Of course!}_ Alex picked up Hamilton—an _incredibly_ fluffy-looking tabby domestic long hair—and placed xem in John’s lap. Hamilton purred contentedly, curling into John’s arms and nuzzling close.

_[I love xem.]_

_{Xe loves you too.}_

“Alright then,” said Grace. “Kitty, check. Next on the agenda: I did find the turtle necklace, in a few colors, and I brought some other things too.” She took the necklaces off and held them in front of John, making sure to not come too close.

Indeed, there were a few turtles, as well as a cat and what was probably a dinosaur and a heart. John ignored the last three, instead taking a closer look at the turtles—a green one, a red one… and a purple one.

_There’s a purple turtle stim necklace._

_There is a purple. turtle. stim. necklace._

**_There is a purple turtle stim necklace._ **

John gently poked at the necklace in question. _[That one.]_

“Gotcha,” said Grace, handing him the necklace, which he put on and began chewing immediately. “I’ll warn you, Hamilton might try to get at them, so if you aren’t chewing you should flip it around so it’s hanging backwards.” John nodded. “I also brought weighted blankets, and there are a few different ones. One smells like lavender, there’s one that smells like lemon, there’s one that kind of smells like the ocean, a vanilla one…”

_[Can I smell the ocean one?]_

Grace picked up one of the blankets and gave John a corner to sniff at. He nodded eagerly and tugged at it, managing to wrap both himself and the cat, who miraculously seemed unfazed and continued purring.

“Xe likes that blanket best,” Grace explained. “It may smell like him a little, actually.”

_[It does. I like it.]_

“Alright, let’s see, we have the kitty, we have the weighted blankets that also smell nice, we have the chewy necklace… what else—Oh! I almost forgot about the iPad. Here.” Grace pulled out the iPad and pressed a few things before handing it to John.

John looked at Alex in disbelief. _[You literally have an entire folder for stim things.]_

_{We literally have an entire folder for stim things.}_

John quickly flipped through the apps—there were enough apps to _flip through them!—_ before landing on one called Forge of Neon, which he happened to have on his own phone.

“That’s everyone’s favorite,” said Grace. “No idea why, but for some reason that’s literally everyone’s favorite. Including mine. So I guess it’s awesome and that’s why everyone likes it.”

John said (and signed) nothing, as he was already playing with the tablet and rocking. Hamilton had fallen asleep in John’s lap, still purring. Everyone was quiet.

_I think I’ve died and gone to stim heaven,_ John thought.

And, miraculously, no one was staring. Alexander was reading something on his phone and Grace was knitting. Usually, when he wanted to stim, it was with the eyes of judgmental allistics locked onto him with scrutiny. Even when trying to calm himself, he never truly found peace. Leave it to Alexander and a Rochambeau counselor to do literally everything correctly. Oh, and Hamilton the cat.

Save for the circumstances that had gotten him there, everything was… perfect.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there—it could have been a few minutes or could have been hours—but eventually he was pretty sure the meltdown was over. Sure, he felt like shit, but he felt less shitty than he had before. He looked up at Alexander, who was still reading, and watched him for a few moments, unsure of how to get his attention.

Eventually Alexander did look over at him. “You feeling any better?”

“Y-yes.” Speaking out loud was hell, but how else would he prove that he was feeling better?

Alexander smiled and moved closer, still not touching. “How do you feel? Besides better?”

Shit. That was a lot of talking. He wasn't sure he was up to that, but he would try

“L-like I j-j—!” What happened next was a sound that most decidedly wasn't a word. _Fuck. Fuck, no, I thought I could—_

“Ssssh, don't try and talk,” Alexander soothed. “You're not ready. That's fine.”

_[I’m sorry.]_

_{No, no, it's fine! You're still nonverbal. That's okay. J-O-H-N, I would much rather you not talk than try to talk when you're not ready.}_

_[Are you sure?]_

_{Positive.}_

_[Thank you, A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R.]_

_{Of course.}_

_[I still don't really want to go back to the cabin. You should go though. You need sleep.]_

_{I've survived on less sleep. I'd rather be here with you.}_

No one had ever said that to him before. Stay with him while he was recovering from a shutdown? After allowing him to stim for however long and being totally okay with his being nonverbal?

He couldn't help but wonder for a second if this was a dream. It seemed too good to be true—how on earth could someone exist that was willing to stay with him _and_ was okay with his stimming _and_ with his being nonverbal _and_ protected him from being touched when he didn't want to be _and_ fluent in ASL _and_ also autistic _and_ one of the nicest people he had ever met _and_ far too cute for words? This couldn’t possibly be real.

_[Thank you.]_

_{Anything for you. What are friends for?}_

John smiled and reached out towards Alexander's hand; fingers touching ever so slightly.

“Do you want to hold hands?” Alex asked.

_[Yes. Is it okay if I sort of… play with it? I like squeezing the squishy part of people’s hands. It's another one of my stims.]_

Alexander laughed. “So long as you don't cut off my circulation.” John beamed and began playing with Alexander’s hand. “Ooooh, that feels good,” said Alex.

_[Thank you.]_

They lingered quietly for another few minutes, and then John yawned, loudly.

_[We should probably get some sleep.]_

“Do you feel up to going back?” Alexander looked at him with concern. “We can wait a little.”

John let go of Alexander’s hand. _[I’ll be okay. Thanks for asking.]_

_{Alright then.}_

_[Can I keep the blanket and necklace? I like them a lot.]_

_{Hold on; I’ll ask G-R-A-C-E.}_ Alex turned to Grace. “Grace, we're heading out, but John wants to know if he can keep the blanket and necklace.”

“I see no problem with it,” Grace replied. “We have fifty other necklaces at least, and a few other blankets. You can't keep the cat or iPad, though.”

_[Dangit.]_

“I know; Hamilton is adorable. But you can see xem tomorrow if you want.”

_[Y-A-Y! A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R, will you put xem in the basket?]_

_{Sure.}_ Alex picked up Hamilton and gently laid xem back in xyr basket.

Meanwhile, John stood up shakily, blanket still wrapped around him. _[I’m ready.]_

They waved goodbye to Grace and then made their way back to Revolution Cabin.

“Hey,” Lafayette said gently as they entered. “Is John alright?”

“Ask him yourself,” Alex said pointedly.

Lafayette nodded. “Of course. Sorry, John. Are you alright?”

_[Depends on what you mean by alright. I feel like I've run a marathon and been hit by a truck after three days of no sleep, but I’ve been worse. Also, I'm nonverbal right now. That means I can't talk.]_

“Sorry, I don't know sign language,” Lafayette said sheepishly. Alex quickly translated. “Ah, okay. So… what happened, if you don't mind my asking?”

_[I had a nightmare, and then I woke up and was overloaded so I shut down.]_

“What does that mean, shut down?” Hercules asked. “I don't quite understand that part.”

_[It’s basically like my body decides to stop working. Can’t talk, don’t want to be touched, just basically want to curl up in a corner. And it happens when I’m overloaded, or under intense stress.]_

“But why do you do that?” Hercules asked.

_[I’m autistic. It’s a thing that happens to autistic people.]_

“Ohhh.” Hercules nodded. “I mean, I still don’t understand everything, but… I understand a little bit more, I think.”

_[A little more is good. As long as you want to learn more.]_

“Definitely, bro. Oh, and I’m sorry if I scared you earlier.”

_[It’s okay. Just don’t do it again.]_

“I won’t; I promise. But d’you think that the next time you get scared, you can try not to run away? I still won’t try to stop you, but we were all really worried you would run away and get hurt.”

_[I’ll try. No promises though.]_

“Try is good enough for me,” said Hercules, smiling.

“Okay, but I still have a lot of questions,” said Lafayette. “John, do you mind answering a few? We don’t have to run through them all tonight; I just want to understand a little more.”

_[Yeah, I guess. I might not want to answer them all, though.]_

“That’s okay. They’re not really specifically about you; more about autism things in general.”

“I can help answer them too,” Alex piped up. “I’m also autistic. I don’t know if you knew that already.”

“I think you mentioned it,” said Lafayette.

_[Can I lie down on the floor? I’m tired.]_

“Of course,” said Alex. “Here, I’ll get you a pillow.” He grabbed a pillow from John’s bed, tossed it onto the ground, and sat down next to it, leaning against the wall.

_[Thanks.]_

_{Of course.}_

John curled up on the floor, blanket still wrapped around him, and he looked around the room at his friends. _[Okay. You can ask questions now. Not too many at a time.]_

The questions were, for the most part, easy to answer; John had answered them a thousand times. Every now and again, however, John would be too tired to answer and would shoot Alex a look clearly saying, _You take this one._ Alex would oblige and John would beam at him, quickly signing _[thank you]_ before scooting himself a little closer to Alexander, a process which repeated itself and became more and more frequent such that an hour and a half later, John was hardly answering questions at all, but was instead half-asleep with his head in Alexander’s lap, the pillow now all but forgotten. At some point during the night, just after John had ditched the pillow, Alexander’s fingers had brushed past John’s temple with a soft whisper of “May I?” and John had nodded. Somehow, the fact that a: someone was playing with his hair that gently, b: that that someone had asked _permission,_ and c: that that someone was _Alexander Hamilton,_ held no gravity.

“I think that’s about it,” Lafayette yawned. Hercules had long gone to sleep, having asked multiple good questions himself. “If I have more I’ll ask them tomorrow, _oui?_ ”

“Sure,” said Alex. “Sound good, John? John? Oh—oh…” Alex smiled softly as he brushed a bit of hair from John’s peacefully asleep face. “You sure like falling asleep on top of me,” he mused. Except this was different. This wasn’t John accidentally falling asleep during Cards Against Humanity. John’s head had been snuggled in his lap for at least a solid hour and Alex had been playing with his hair almost the entire time. This was… _cuddling._ And he didn’t want to stop.

How could he want to stop, when John seemed so peaceful, when he _smiled_ every time Alex lingered just a few seconds longer, when just hours ago John had woken screaming from a nightmare but was now finally getting safe, peaceful rest?

No, nobody was going anywhere.

Smiling, Alex leaned further against the wall and took John’s hand in his.

Sleeping while sitting up against the wall couldn’t be that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Lia here! Sorry for taking so long! Hopefully this chapter made up for the wait and for the cliffie in the last one. If not… sorry!! Please forgive me someday!  
> I would like to take this opportunity to tell a brief story about myself, and the forces tugging me as I write my fanfics. I promise, there is a method to my madness, even if there is a madness to my method.  
> In the beginning, there was just me and my Muse. My Muse directed my every step, gave me every idea and pointed me in exactly the right direction. Sometimes, that direction was strange, and sometimes it was pure evil. But my Muse was my guiding light and I would follow her to the ends of the earth.  
> As I wrote, I also read, and before long the ideas of other writers began to flow into my head. There formed a window in my mind to the ideas of everyone else, and I call that the Consciousness—the collective of ideas and headcanons created by the entire fandom, that I sometimes tap, either by choice or by the new little hand that tugged me towards the window.  
> Of course, the Consciousness had no sentience, had no life, nor did the hand tugging me towards it, and they easily bowed to the stronger hand of my Muse. She still reigned supreme, unshaken, only feeding off of all that she saw. All was well.  
> But then came another voice, surfacing from a thousand miles away and a whole entire inch below me, but even from that distance and that height, that voice by its very nature and, shall we say, literality, easily grew as loud as my Muse’s, so much so that I had to rename my Muse my Inner Muse, and this upstart, my Outer Muse.  
> I say upstart because he had one hell of a time arguing with my Inner Muse, and she didn’t like it; so much so that she drove me to shut most of his ideas down, convincing me that I shouldn’t be giving mere fans any sort of special treatment.  
> Luckily for this little upstart, my heart called bullshit, as did fate, because that little upstart is now my little brother and I’ll be damned if I deny him jack-shit.  
> And that, dear readers, is how Alex and John became autistic—or rather, I accepted that they already were and always had been. I’ll admit it; it took me quite a long time to come around, but here we are and I could not be happier.  
> Shoutout also to Clare_Hope for picking up on the fact that Alex and John are autistic early. Yahooey! :D  
> Keep on submitting to the Rochambeau CAH contest by posting on Tumblr with #rochambeau cah! For more info, go to http://unshakespearean.tumblr.com/rochambeaucah!  
> As always, love and ducks to the Lone Shippers, hugs to supporters, shoutouts to the Autism Power Squad, and cookies for all!  
> Love,  
> Lia xxxxx


	8. jefferson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so from now on, ASL is stylized as follows: Italics + straight brackets = John; italics + curly brackets (aka braces) = Alex. I’ll let you know how I’m stylizing other characters’ signs in beginning chapter notes. Fingerspelled words are stylized in all caps with hyphens in between each letter (e.g. E-L-I-Z-A), except for signs such as ASL and CODA, because the signs for those words are the initials. Assume that when a person’s name is used and it’s not finger-spelled, it’s the signed name for that person. Also, basically all of John's dialogue was written by goatFanatic (tumblr: adhdlaurens)

John woke up the next morning unsure as to where he was. He certainly wasn’t in his bed or sleeping bag, and yet he was wrapped in  _ something,  _ and that something was warm and fluffy and wonderfully heavy and smelled a little bit like cats and a little like the ocean.

“Good morning.”

He blinked and looked up to see Alexander smiling at him.

_ Did I really fall asleep on top of him? Oh god. _

“Did you sleep well?”

John nodded. He hadn’t slept that well in quite a long time. Memories of Alexander tenderly playing with his hair kept flowing through his mind.  _ [I’m still nonverbal. I’m sorry; last night was just really overwhelming and—] _

“Hey. Hey, it’s alright. You can keep signing; I don’t mind. I’ll even sign back if you want.”

_ [No, no, it’s okay; you don’t have to sign.] _

“Want me to be your interpreter today? I’ve kinda always wanted to be an interpreter. Sorry, that sounds weird. Is it weird? Maybe. Anyway, do you want me to be your interpreter?”

_ [Holy shit that would be amazing. Thank you, A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R. Hey, do you have a signed name?] _

Alex shook his head. “No. I figured that since I’m not in the Deaf or Hard of Hearing community, I probably shouldn’t come up with one for myself. It’s never been a problem for me though, partly because most of the time nobody signs my full name. You’re literally the only person who’s ever bothered to sign my full name.”

John beamed.  _ [You literally have no idea how many people don’t realize how disrespectful it is to give signed names if you’re hearing.] _

“But like… that’s literally just common sense,” said Alex. “People suck.”

_ [That is definitely true. Especially allistics. Allistics need to Stop. They are the Worst.] _

“Tell me about it.”

_ [I can come up with a signed name for you. I don’t know what it is quite yet, but I’ll figure it out soon.] _

Alex grinned. “That would be awesome. Thanks! Now let’s wake up the others.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the morning passed beautifully. At breakfast, John had walked up to Grace and asked if she wanted him to return the blanket and necklace, and she had quite firmly said no. “We have plenty of stim toys. You can keep them as long as you want—although I’m guessing you’ll have to return them at the end of the summer.”

_ [You’re the best,]  _ John had replied, and he went on to happily chew on the turtle necklace.

After breakfast was the morning activity, which reminded John of the GSA meetings at his old school—the one he had attended until his father found out that the club existed and had forced him to transfer. The only difference was that instead of one club meeting, there were options. John had taken a look at the list of possible activities that morning, and there were tons of them, everything from discussions of the asexuality spectrum to proving that being gay wasn’t a sin. Some weren’t even LGBT+ related, but rather were more like traditional camp activities.

_ [Thanks again for translating for me,]  _ said John as they walked to lunch. They had chosen a group about representation in the media for their morning activity, and John had had a lot to say. The only person who really had more to say was a girl in Juniors named Michelle, who literally carried a list of LGBT+ characters who had been killed for no reason as well as examples of bisexuality erasure. It was amazing.

_ {Of course. Ohhhh shit.} _

_ [What?] _

_ {Ableist piece of shit at twelve o’clock and getting closer.} _

Sure enough, Thomas Jefferson was striding towards them, tossing his hair as though he were Regina George, although his hair was significantly nicer than that.

_ [Yuck.] _

“Jefferson. What do you want?” Alex asked irritatedly.

Jefferson said nothing to Alex, instead turning to John. John forced an awkward smile and gave a small wave. Jefferson pointed to the stim necklace. “Oh, I recognize that,” Jefferson said in a voice dripping with patronization. “That's from the autism closet. Do you have autism?”

John raised an eyebrow, turning to Alex to have him translate.  _ [I’m autistic, if that's what you're asking.] _

“Now, don't say that,” Jefferson almost cooed, but not in the sweet way that Alexander did when he was being kind and maybe a little overprotective. No, this was the kind of cooing that one would give a child, and it was gross. “Autism is only a part of you; it doesn't have to be who you are.”

John glared at Jefferson, disgusted.  _ [Don’t tell me how to define myself. If I weren’t autistic, I wouldn't be me. I  _ **_am_ ** _ my autism.] _

Jefferson gave John a simpering smile. “I understand that you're proud of who you are, and that’s wonderful. But autism is a disease… what was it? James? Jason?”

“It's John, asshole,” Alex snapped. “Sorry; you were saying?”

“Yes, John. John, I'm glad you're proud of yourself, but autism is a disease, and it impairs your judgment. But don't worry; lots of scientists are searching for a cure, and in the meantime you can go to therapy and get help.”

_ [I’m sorry, but how does the way my brain works ‘impair my judgement’?]  _  John was absolutely pissed. This guy was  _ not _ getting away with talking to him like that.

“Well, it's very complicated, but let's see if I can explain it. Hmm… well, it changes the way you see the world and keeps you from being able to make good decisions when you're around other people. And, of course, it makes you throw fits and not be able to talk, which I'm sure must be so hard for you, you poor thing.” Jefferson gave John a look of pure patronization and reached out to pat his shoulder in “sympathy—”

—John pulled away, making a strangled noise in his throat.  _ [Why did you touch me? Did I say you could touch me?] _

Alex finished the translation, but then added a few choice words of his own. “Don't ever touch him without permission again, or I swear I will punch you,” he finished.

“What? I was trying to be nice! See, this is what I'm talking about. Autism makes you misinterpret people being nice as people trying to hurt you.”

John shook his head.  _ [It doesn't matter that you were trying to be nice. It's not okay to touch anyone without their permission. And because I'm  _ **_autistic_ ** _ I have sensory processing issues and that did actually hurt me.] _

“That must mean you're in excruciating pain all the time,” said Jefferson. “That's what autism does to you, and you can't even speak when you're in pain! You can never truly communicate with others. That's just tragic.”

John was fuming. How dare he?  _ [I can't speak because I had a big night yesterday and need to recharge. This usually happens about once a week. And I'm quite obviously communicating with you right now, aren't I?]  _ Not that he was enjoying the encounter by any means.  _ [And I’m not always in pain. I just can't deal with anyone touching me, especially someone like you.] _

“I meant with your  _ words.  _ And really, this happens once a week? That's truly horrible. You really do have it bad, John. I bet you were vaccinated as a kid, yeah? That always makes it worse. All those toxins in your system. There are plenty of ways to flush those out, too; that'll take the edge off of all of this, and you can try yoga also; that's been said to help with keeping calm. And like I said, there's all sorts of therapy and soon they'll find a cure.”

John took a deep breath, rubbing his temples.  _ [Ok, first things first: never suggest yoga to me again. Ever. Second, my way of communicating isn’t inherently lesser than yours. Just because I can’t always use my words doesn’t mean that I’m not communicating. Third, vaccines didn’t cause this, they aren’t toxic, and there’s nothing bad about them. All they do is keep you from dying of a preventable disease. Even if, in some alternate universe, vaccines did cause autism, that wouldn’t matter. They keep you from dying.] _

“There are plenty of ways to prevent those diseases,” Jefferson argued. “Natural immunity, medicinal nutrition, proper sanitation, all that. And there are plenty of ways to treat those diseases if you do get them.”

John’s face scrunched up.  _ [That’s… Just not true. And what about the people with weak immune systems, people who’ve had transplants and those with autoimmune diseases like HIV? Basically, what you’re saying is you’d rather a child be dead than be like me.] _

Jefferson seemed (only seemed) shocked at the question. “What? No, of course not! I mean, if he was in excruciating pain and couldn't communicate and couldn't walk… but no, you're certainly not so low functioning…”

He sighed and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.  _ [First of all, there are no high-functioning and low-functioning autistic people. There are just autistic people. No matter what symptoms we show, we’re all human beings who deserve rights and respect. Besides, if you feel that they can’t communicate, which is bullshit; behavior is communication, what makes you think they’re in pain? Also, as a linguist, the generic ‘he’ went out of style centuries ago. Use singular they.] _

“Singular they isn't grammatically correct, and besides, I wasn't using ‘he’ generically; I was using ‘he’ because statistically, there are far more males with autism than females.”

John gave a hard blink, staring.  _ [First of all, singular they has been used since Shakespeare, so you're wrong and transphobic. Second, that statistic is dumb and excludes trans people.] _

“Statistics can't be  _ dumb;  _ they're  _ statistics.  _ And as for excluding trans people, I meant people who are born with male parts, so sorry.” (Jefferson didn't seem sorry at all.)

_ [Yeah… Again, transphobic. Not everyone with a penis is a man or uses he/him pronouns. And there's no specific set of male or female parts. Anyone who identifies as a man has male parts, every person who identifies as a woman has female parts, and the same with everyone and everything in between. Besides, intersex people exist, too. So, yeah, gender based statistics are stupid and transphobic.] _

“Fine then, if you're going to be argumentative, people with a penis are more likely to have autism.” Jefferson smirked, sure he had won.

_ [Actually, we live in a misogynistic society where those assigned female at birth are held to much different standards than those assigned male. They are also punished more severely, don't conform to many autistic stereotypes, and what could be considered autistic behavior is more ‘tolerated’ for them, so it is just less likely for them to be diagnosed. Plus, it's been shown doctors have a tendency to believe and trust their AMAB clients than their AFAB clients.]  _  Jefferson was not about to win this one.

“That's not what he said,” Jefferson laughed when Alex finished translating. “That's really terrible of you, Hamilton; taking advantage of the mentally ill to spread some ‘feminist’ agenda.” (And yes, Jefferson did actually use air quotes. Fuck that guy.)

“What do you mean?” Alex asked.

Jefferson rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. All of that you just said, you made up. I can't imagine that half of those words even exist in sign language, and even if they did, there's no way that  _ he _ can sign all of that. If you're going to push your SJW nonsense on me, fine, but for heaven’s sake don't loop this poor child into it. It's not his fault he's diseased, and it's absolutely horrible that you'd use the only way he can communicate, limited and primitive as it is, and abuse it like this.”

John was taken aback, and the first thing he did was turn to Alex.  _ [Are you seeing this? Okay, first off, please tell him that at the moment you’re just an interpreter, and haven’t said an original word in the past 20 minutes.] _

Alex nodded.  _ {Trust me, I'm seeing it, and I want to punch him.}  _ Then he turned back to Jefferson. “John told me to tell you that I'm only an interpreter and haven't said an original word in the past twenty minutes, which is almost true. I did curse at you after you tried to touch him and told you to never do that again, but other than that, yeah—everything I've said is a direct translation of what he’s said, although admittedly the word order is slightly different because ASL’s  _ grammar  _ is a little different from spoken English.” He emphasized  _ grammar  _ on purpose, knowing that Jefferson would argue.

“You mean, the grammar is wrong,” Jefferson corrected.

Alex rolled his eyes. “Okay, this time it is me talking, and no, it's different. Just like French is different. You wouldn't ever say that because French grammar is different that it's wrong, right?”

“Of course not! French is a wonderful and sophisticated language. What you're doing isn't sophisticated at all, which is why I still don't believe that you've really been repeating everything your friend has said verbatim.”

John tapped Alex’s shoulder and began signing.  _ [Actually, you’re the one in the wrong here; see, the language you’re describing is Signed Exact English, or SEE, which is something uncultured hearing and verbal people use when they try to learn for ‘funzies.’ I, however, as a self-respecting nonverbal Hard of Hearing person, am not going to use it just to make you believe that my friend here is correctly interpreting what I say. And, to add on to that, what makes you think that ASL does not have the words to say everything I just said?] _

“It's just a way that you people tell us what you need,” Jefferson said offhandedly. “It's not a real language.”

John sighed and shot Alex a look.  _ [Well, you’re off by quite a bit there. Look, I have tried to be civil with you, but I am  _ **_done_ ** _. You’ve insulted me, you’ve insulted my culture, and now you’ve insulted my language, one of the most important things I have. ASL is a language. I use it to communicate. With hearing people, Deaf people, Hard of Hearing people like myself, as well as nonverbal people like myself. Not to mention mainstreamed deaf and hard of hearing people, who didn’t have access to their language and culture and were not able to learn. For some of those people, I need an interpreter to communicate with. The first rule of common decency to those who have an interpreter with them is to talk to your conversational partner, not the interpreter. I hate to compare people to animals, but the best way to explain it is like a service dog. You don’t pay attention to the dog, you don’t interact with it, it’s there to help, you’re talking to the handler. Just like you are talking to the person signing, not the interpreter. Now, as for you thinking that ASL isn’t its own language, that’s where you’re wrong, fucko. ASL is its own language, used for Deaf and Hard of Hearing people to communicate with each other and hearing people. Just because our voices don’t come across the way yours do, doesn’t mean that they aren’t valid, or that we don’t have them. So ASL is so much more than a tool for us to tell verbal and hearing people what we want; it’s for us to be able to communicate, to have a voice. It’s its own language, with its own slang, dialects, and culture. Hell, contrary to popular belief, there are just as many signed languages as there are spoken ones! So shut up and get your hearing and allistic head out of your ass. Now, what made you think that that, even though ASL has the signed vocabulary for it, I wouldn’t know all of the words of what I said?] _

Out of pure spite, Jefferson stared directly at Alex as he answered. “Well, autism impairs learning as well, and seeing as you can barely communicate in English; I can’t imagine you would be able to become fluent in  _ another  _ ‘language,’ if we are going to call it that, although I suppose if you were going to learn any language, it would be one where you can flap your hands around.”

John took a deep breath.  _ [Okay, I’m going to say this one more time, you are not talking to A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R. He is not your conversational partner right now. I am. And, again, ASL is a language; so is every other signed language out there. There are thousands. And fun fact: we autistic people have things that we call ‘special interests,’ and one of mine is languages. I love languages. I want to learn everything there is about languages. In addition to the language I’m using right now I can speak and understand English fluently, Spanish proficiently, and Esperanto conversationally. Autistic people aren’t lesser, our judgement is not impaired because it’s different from yours, and we have just as much ability to learn languages as you do. And finally, you just made a crack about stimming. Funny. Haha. So what if I do flap? So what if I stim, so what if I use certain signed sentences to stim? That’s none of your business, and it doesn’t make me any less of a person than you are.] _

“It absolutely is my business,” Jefferson sneered, “when you’re doing it around me and I have to watch it, and don’t even get me  _ started  _ on my poor boyfriend, James. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I love him, but it’s  _ so embarrassing _ to walk around with him and he’s doing that. I’m so glad his parents did the right thing and put him in therapy.”

John nodded slowly.  _ [First of all, I’m sorry for your boyfriend having to go through abusive therapy that tries to convince him that he’s broken and the way his brain works is wrong. And I’m sorry that he has a boyfriend who supports it. And, another thing—] _ before Alex could finish translating the last part, John had already kneed Thomas in the groin.

“Ow! See, Hamilton? Clearly, he’s unstable and dangerous, and he should be put in therapy too, and we need to have a cure. Honestly, he probably shouldn’t even be here if he’s going to—” he broke off with a scream as Alex punched him in the face, hard.

“Don’t you ever say that again,” Alex growled. “I swear to god, Jefferson, say one more word and you won’t be able to talk for a week—maybe then you’ll appreciate being nonverbal and stop treating me and my friends like shit.”

Jefferson stared at Alex in shock for a moment before storming away.

“Holy shit, that was incredible.”

They turned to see Angelica Schuyler walking towards them. “It’s always so fun when Jefferson storms away like a toddler, and you were incredible. Way to take down an ableist piece of shit.”

_ [Thanks. It was fun.] _

“You’ll have to teach me ASL,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to learn.”

_ [Sure! I’d love to teach you!] _

“So what are you guys going to do in the afternoon? We have home base meetings first, but then after that we have free time.”

“Not sure yet,” said Alex. “What are you up to?”

“I was going to host a nature boat ride,” Angelica replied. “We all get out on canoes and kayaks and tour the lake and look for cool animals and plants and stuff. It’s very relaxing.”

_ [Are there any turtles in the lake?] _

“Actually, yes! There are a few that we try to look out for. And lots of really cool birds.”

_ [I’m in! Wait, no, maybe not. I might still be nonverbal.] _

“There isn’t really a lot of talking,” said Angelica. “Mostly we try to be quiet so we don’t disturb the wildlife. Usually I’m the only one who talks.”

_ [Then I’m definitely in!] _

“I might not come,” said Alex. “I had a few other things I wanted to do. Is that okay?”

_ [Sure! I’ll be fine. Who knows, maybe I’ll be verbal again by the time I come back. Not sure though.] _

“If you’re not, I’ll still translate,” said Alex.

_ [Thanks, A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R.] _

“Of course.” He smiled at John, one of those impossibly bright smiles that seemed to light up a solid thirty-yard radius.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Lunch passed, and home base meetings passed, and soon Alex and John were parting ways. John waved as he got into a canoe with Angelica, Alex waving back from the docks.

And then John was gone, off on the lake and happily listening to Angelica talk about nature. And Alex… wanted to cry.

_ God damn it, he won’t even be gone for more than a few hours! _

_ How did this happen?  _ he asked himself.  _ How is it that after barely knowing John Laurens for two days, I want to spend every single second next to him? How does that even work? And why the fuck did I not want to go on that canoe ride with him? So what if I don’t even like boats? _

He sighed and went into the Conservatory, staring out the glass window at the boats, wishing he were there, wishing that he were on the boat with John and watching those goddamn twin sun eyes that he wanted to stare into  _ forever  _ light up at the sights of turtles and birds.

“Fucking  _ hell,  _ you’ve got it bad.”

He turned to see that Eliza was in her favorite seat at the table, watercolor pencils splayed around her as always. “Good on you, Alex. I just hope that you don’t fall too hard and hurt yourself.”

“He’s… perfect,” Alex whispered, a finger running down the glass in front of him. “I just want to spend every second with him.”

“Why?” Eliza asked. “What is it about him? Articulate it. That’s something you’re good at.”

_ Thousands  _ of words flew into Alex’s mind, but before he could speak, Eliza held up a hand.

“Write about it,” she said. “Go grab a journal and write it. You obviously need an outlet.”

Alex nodded and went over to the shelf where journals and notebooks were kept. After looking at a couple, he finally decided on a purple composition notebook, the same color as the turtle necklace. He grabbed a Sharpie and drew a few symbols on the front— _ John  _ in a code that he had invented, and then he opened the notebook and began to write.

The words flowed out of his pen easily, although he wasn’t quite sure what he was writing. It wasn’t a story, nor was it poetry, but rather some sort of lyrical prose, and he kept writing and writing until Eliza quietly told him that the canoe trip had returned.

He went out to the docks to see John beaming as he climbed out of his canoe. John waved and came running over to Alex.

_ [That was amazing! I saw turtles! And five different kinds of birds! You totally should have been there! It was so much fun! I’m still nonverbal though.] _

“Don’t worry,” Alex replied. “There’s still a little time before dinner. What do you want to do?”

_ [Can we help with dinner? I really like helping.] _

“Of course. Shall we?” He really,  _ really  _ wanted to extend a hand for John to take, but he was worried that John would be scared by that.

_ [Can I hold your hand?] _

Alex nearly jumped for joy.

_ {I was hoping you’d ask.} _

Alex reached out first, fingers spread. Their fingertips touched first, lightly, a tingling sensation running through Alex’s hand at the contact. Then their fingers began to intertwine, slowly slipping past each other until their fingers were exactly lined up but not past one another, at which point John gently laid his thumb on top of Alex’s, reaching his fingers forward and closing the distance. Neither were sure how long it took to get from beginning to end—John thought it had happened in seconds; Alex thought it had been at least an hour—but either way, they began walking away from the docks.

They passed Jefferson on the way, the CIT staring quite pointedly at them, their hands and fingers laced together, and at John’s necklace, which he was contentedly sucking.

“Fuck you, Jefferson,” said Alex, and with a middle finger and a wink, he squeezed John’s hand and led him into the dining hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Lia here! Look, a speedy update, featuring Pining™ and yelling at an asshole! What’s not to love?  
> Extra super special thanks to Lil Bro aka goatFanatic/adhdlaurens for cowriting parts of this chapter with me (namely, the scene between John and Jefferson; he wrote all of John’s parts!) and also being my resident expert on autism (although someday I will be an expert too, being autistic myself) and the Deaf/HoH communities (which also involved giving me signed names for all of the characters). And also for the shit-ton of characterization ideas he dumps on me, even if I don’t always use them. I love you, little one <3  
> Continue submitting to the Rochambeau Cards Against Humanity contest, which can be found at unshakespearean.tumblr.com/rochambeaucah!  
> And, as always, love and ducks to the Lone Shippers, hugs to supporters, shoutouts to the Autism Power Squad, and cookies for all!  
> Love,  
> Lia xxxxx


	9. labels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lia here. First off, before we go any further, @everyone who said that John was kickass last chapter, I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT. That was ALL my little internet brother, who is on Tumblr as adhdlaurens and AO3 as goatfanatic. He wrote all of the kickassery. Every single word. I wrote Jefferson’s lines and he wrote John’s.  
> I wrote this chapter solo. Please read the AN at the end; it’s important.

_ Three days later (Friday, June 26th) _

“So the Friday schedule is a little different from normal days,” Alex explained as the Revolutionary Set walked to breakfast. “First off, there’s no technical curfew. You’re allowed to stay out as long as you want and you don’t get in trouble. There's even a night kitchen in the annex behind Princeton, which we as Seniors can go to and actually cook in, but it's not always open because it has to be supervised by a counselor. Second, there’s no dinner crew because we have pizza and watch a movie in Monmouth, although there is a voluntary crew of people who bake fresh cookies. And finally, home base meetings are an hour long instead of half an hour.” Alex beamed at the final sentence.

John couldn’t help but smile as well. Home base meetings were admittedly one of his favorite parts of camp, even though it was arguably the most depressing. It was something to the effect of group therapy, a place where they just opened up and talked. Sometimes it was a freeform discussion; other times Washington came up with an activity for the group to do. Either way, this was the real safe space, the place where everyone got to be honest and learn more about themselves and each other.

“Sounds great,” said John. “Is the pizza good?”

“Amazing,” Alex replied. “The pizza is fucking fantastic. Fridays are my favorite days of the week… except maybe Saturdays because of Tournament. Not sure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright, alright, everyone settle down.”

John always found it interesting how readily everyone listened to Washington. He told them to settle down and they did so  _ immediately.  _ At first, he was admittedly a little paranoid—he had seen kids listen that intently to adults before, and it had been at his “special” preschool which had literally advertised something called “playdate coaching,” which he would later learn was called ABA and was the epitome of pure ableist evil.

But this was different. This was genuine mutual respect. Everyone listened to Washington because Washington listened to everyone.

“Thank you,” said Washington. He smiled at John, who was now contentedly sucking on his necklace. “Today we’re going to do a little activity and have a discussion about it. Now, I haven’t done this activity before. I learned about it quite recently at a youth partial program which I visited to learn and to teach—it was a wonderful experience; if any of you are interested I’ll tell you more—but I thought that it would be a great idea for home base meetings. But if you disagree, tell me. I’m using you as guinea pigs. Got it? Everyone nodded. “Good. Today we are going to talk about labels. Who here can give me a definition of a label?”

One of the Fayton twins—John couldn’t tell if it was Henriette or Ana—raised her hand. “Ana?”

“A word or a phrase which, when applied to a person, quickly explains a certain piece of information about them and puts them into some sort of group, for better or worse,” said Ana.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Well done,” said Washington. “I especially like the part about  _ for better or worse,  _ because that is what we are going to talk about today. One of the people in this partial program gave me a great analogy for labels, although I believe she found it on Tumblr. People are to labels as cats are to boxes. Here, I’ll demonstrate.” He stepped aside to reveal Hamilton the cat, curled up in a box. Everyone immediately began cooing over how cute xe was. “As you can see, Hamilton is very content in xyr box. This is xyr favorite box, and xe will crawl into that box all on xyr own whenever xe gets a chance. However, watch what happens when I place xem into a similar box.” Washington picked Hamilton up and put xem into a box which looked pretty much identical. Hamilton looked around the box, turned in a few circles, and then walked out. “See? Even though the boxes are similar and should be equally comfortable, this isn’t the box that Hamilton likes, so xe won’t stay in it. But here’s the important part. Now I’m going to put Hamilton back into the box that xe likes.” He picked Hamilton up again and put xem back into the first box. Hamilton looked around again and then climbed out. “Now. Why did Hamilton just do that? That was the box xe liked and was in before, remember? Why didn’t xe like being put back into it?” He looked around the room. “Any ideas?”

John knew (or thought he knew) the answer right away, but was nervous to say it.

“John? You seem to have an idea.” Washington smiled at him. “Go on; there are plenty of good answers. I have one on my mind in particular, but that doesn’t mean that other answers aren’t right.”

John nodded. “Xe didn’t like it when you put xem into those boxes because xe didn’t choose to go into them xemself.”

“Boom.” Washington gave John a finger gun. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. But still, does anyone else have other ideas?”

A few others gave suggestions—perhaps xe was scared of being forced into a box by someone without xyr permission; maybe xe only wants to be in the box at certain times—but they all in one way or another related to the idea that putting a cat, or anyone else, in a box, was very different from their going into the box themself.

“Now, here’s how all of that relates to labels,” said Washington. He turned the boxes around to reveal that each one had a label. One of them—the one that Hamilton had chosen to be in—said  _ HAMILCAT _ in big letters. The other one said _ FELINE. _ “When I put Hamilton into those boxes, I was giving xem labels. When Hamilton chose to be in the box that says  _ HAMILCAT, _ xe was giving xemself a label. And the same applies to people. So now we’re going to try a little activity, and I’m warning you, it is going to be incredibly cheesy.” He pulled out a pad full of sticky labels and a box of markers. “I want everyone to choose a marker. Then we’re going to pass around the pad, and when you have the pad, you’re going to write down two labels that other people have given to you without your permission and stick them on your shirt. I know this might be hard, but I’m hoping it will pay off in the end.”

John sighed. There were so many labels that had been thrown at him in the past, and he wasn’t sure which ones to select. How could he choose only two?

By the time the pad reached him, he had decided on two:  _ embarrassment  _ and _ freak.  _ His hand shook as he wrote the two words and stuck them on his shirt.

_ I don’t like this. I really don’t like this. Why does he want me to do this? _

“It’s gonna be okay,” Alex whispered from next to him. “I know it seems like there’s a madness to his method, but I promise there’s a method to his madness.

John nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen and he very much wanted to cry. He hated those words and he didn’t like thinking about them.

“I can see that a lot of you are troubled,” said Washington as the pad returned to him. “Allow me to join you.” He took a marker and wrote two labels of his own, which will not be included in this story as both were slurs. “Is everyone alright with my using these words? Please speak up if not.”

“Can you just not say them out loud?” asked Maria Reynolds.

“Of course not,” said Washington. “In fact, we aren’t even going to keep these on our shirts for much longer. I’m going to pass around this trash can, and you are going to take one of your labels off and put in in the trash, while filling in the following statement.” He held up a piece of paper so the group could see. “ _ I reject this label because… _ and then you’re going to say your reason. We’re going to go around twice, once for each label.”

John nodded. This was okay. He could do this. He reached for Alexander’s hand to find that it was already there, reassuringly ready.

“Deep breath,” Alexander whispered. They breathed together, once, twice, not really paying attention to the others in the circle who were already ripping off their labels.

The trash can was seven people away, and John didn’t know which one to rip off first. Six people away, and he didn’t have an explanation for why. Five people away, and he wasn’t sure whether he could say he rejected either of these labels when they were so ingrained in him, so locked into his head. Four people away, and the only thoughts he could get himself to think were the reasons those words were true, as opposed to why they weren’t. Three people away, and he was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to answer when it was his turn. Two people away, and it was only then that he realized he should have been paying attention to the others so he could rip off of what they said, no pun intended. One person away, and that was Alexander so he decided to listen. He hadn’t even noticed what Alexander had written.

Alexander ripped off his first label, which read  _ CREOLE BASTARD _ . “I reject this label because, while both words are actually true, they were shoved upon me in a way that made both of them look bad, when in actuality neither of them are. I’m proud of who I am, and I will not let my heritage be disrespected.” He scrunched the label in his hand and put it in the trash.

_ Shit. My turn. And I still don’t know what to say. _

Alexander pushed the trash can towards John, and it was sitting in front of him, and everyone was watching.

_ Wait. Yes I do. Sort of. Maybe. What the hell; I’m going for it. _

He ripped off the label that said  _ embarrassment.  _ “I reject this label because—well, like Alexander said. I’m proud of who I am. And if my fa—the person who gave me this label—is embarrassed by that, that’s hi—their—problem.”

“Preach,” Angelica called from across the circle. “Best answer yet.”

There were a few echoes of agreement, but Alex remained silent. John’s hesitations and interruptions were hardly lost on him, and between that and John’s nightmare a few days back, he was starting to develop a picture in his mind of John’s father—and he didn’t like it.

The ceremonial label-ditching continued, making its rounds until it reached John again. This time, he did know exactly what to say.

“I reject this label because etymologically, the word ‘freak’ is the stupidest insult known to this planet,” he declared.

“What does that mean?” asked Eliza. “And how do you know?”

“I know a lot about languages,” John shrugged, reserving the term  _ special interest  _ for another time (maybe). “And you really want to know what it means? Because I don’t really explain things in TL;DRs.”

“Go for it!” Eliza said brightly. “I’m dead curious now.”

Alexander laid his hand on top of John’s reassuringly. “I’m curious too.”

John sat up a little straighter. This was something he knew well and loved to talk about. “Okay, so the thing about ‘freak’ as a derogatory term is that it’s incredibly recent. The word itself dates back to the 1560s; back then it meant ‘sudden and apparently causeless turn of mind,’ and may have come from Old and Middle English words meaning to jump or dance. But the meaning also comes from the Scottish word  _ freik, _ which came from the Middle English word  _ freke, _ which came from the Old English word  _ freca, _ which came from German. The German originally meant bold or impudent, which turned into a bold man, or a warrior, and by the time it passed through Scottish and back to English, it meant a brave man. It wasn’t until the late 19th century, when Americans started using the phrase ‘freak of nature,’ that the term became derogatory. Basically, for the past century or so, we’ve been insulting people with a word that started out at a compliment all thanks to a few dumb Americans who didn’t do their homework when picking out what to call their inhumane sideshow attractions or whatever. It’s a terrible insult and really doesn’t need to hold any sort of power over anyone.”

For a few terrifying moments, nobody spoke. John’s hands trembled—had saying all that been a mistake? He stared at the floor, hoping that nobody would say—

“Holy  _ shit. _ ”

He looked up to see that one of the campers—he wasn’t sure of his name; Frank something? Fred? Something with an F—had his eyes wide. “That… was incredible.”

John blinked in surprise. “Wait—really? You think so?”

“Hell yeah, bro. That was fucking amazing. You need to, I dunno, write a speech about that and present it to a bunch of dickwads who call people freaks.”

“I agree with this wholeheartedly,” Henriette piped up. “You  _ have  _ to spread that shit.”

John looked over at Washington, who was smiling with approval. “Now  _ that, _ ” he said, “is what I call rising up. Well done, John. Very impressive.”

“Damn,” Alexander whispered. “He doesn’t compliment easily.”

_ And that’s the second compliment he’s given me. Maybe I am good at things. _

The circle continued, and soon the trash can was back at Washington’s feet. “Well done, everyone,” he said. “I’m sure that was very hard for a lot of people. Now we’re going to transition into something more positive. I’m going to pass around the pad again twice. The first time, you’re going to write one label for yourself that you accept and gave to yourself, and one compliment to give the person on your left. The second time, you’re going to write another label for yourself, and a compliment for the person on your right. Got it?”

John nodded. Alexander was on his left, and Lafayette on his right. He could definitely give them compliments. As for himself… he wasn’t sure.

“Stuck,  _ mon ami? _ ” Lafayette asked. John nodded. “Hmmm. Think about something you’re good at. That little speech you gave earlier? That was amazing. Go from there.”

John grinned. It was a good idea. When the label came around, he wrote  _ linguist _ for himself and…

Oh, shit. What was he going to write for Alexander? There were so many things he could write, and only some of them were a good idea. Well, probably none of them.

Yeah, no, none of his ideas were good. Time to bullshit something. He quickly wrote down  _ awesome ASL translator _ and handed it to Alexander.

“Here’s yours,” said Lafayette, handing the label to John. It said  _ Brave. _

“Oh—oh. Thank you.” John blushed deeply.

“He’s right,” says Hercules from his place next to Lafayette. Alexander nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” John said again. He wasn’t entirely sure what else to say.

He gave Lafayette the label of  _ creative  _ with a hasty explanation of “for coming up with Showcase and all,” to which Lafayette beamed and gave him a hearty  _ Merci.  _ For himself, after receiving a thumbs up and a huge grin from Alexander, he wrote  _ autistic! :D,  _ smiley face and all.

Alexander gave him the label of  _ AMAZING FRIEND. _

John nearly cried.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You doing okay?” Alex asked a few minutes after they left The Barn. “That was pretty intense.”

“Eh… okayish. Low on spoons. Might be nonverbal soon. Not sure yet.”

Alex noted the choppiness, the spaces between John’s words, and he was pretty sure that John’s “not sure yet” was the sort of “don’t worry; I’m fine” that was dropped on habit without any sort of substance in John’s reality, and that he absolutely would end up going nonverbal soon, which was a: fine, and b: no surprise.

“Alright, well, it’s fine if you do,” said Alex. “I wanted to do the cookie crew today which starts at 5:30; you’re welcome to come along if you want.”

“Ooooh, that sounds fun!” John grinned. “I love baking.”

“Well, call isn’t for another few hours, so we can go somewhere else first, maybe recharge a little,” Alex suggested. “Conservatory? Or we can go over to the lake, usually there’s a jam session around now.”

“Ooooh, yes, you should!” Lafayette piped up. “Hercules and I might go and play too. We play the violin and viola. And I know the Schuylers usually play at those—Angelica brings her guitar; she usually doesn’t to campfire because it’s an electric and the cord doesn’t reach.”

John winced. “That’s usually loud, isn’t it?”

“Oh, no, she never plays loudly,” said Lafayette.

“The jam sessions always are lots of fun,” Hercules added.

“Want to check it out?” Alex asked. 

John nodded.  _ [I think I’m going nonverbal. Sorry, A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R.] _

_ {It’s okay! So—jam session?} _

_ [Yes! It sounds fun!] _

_ {Let’s go, then.}  _ Alex gently took John’s hand and led him toward the lake, where all three Schuylers were sitting side by side at a picnic table. Angelica was contemplatively strumming, staring at the sky.

“Hey guys!” Eliza said brightly, waving. “Angie, Pegs, look. The Revolutionary Set is here.”

Angelica stopped strumming and looked to where her sister was pointing. “Ooooh,” she grinned. “Lafayette, Hercules, care to join us?”

Lafayette bowed deeply. “With pleasure,  _ mademoiselle Angélique.  _ Come, Hercules; I believe our instruments are in the dining hall.” They took Hercules’s hand and led him away.

They returned a few moments later, each holding a case designed for a string instrument. “I play the violin and Laf plays the viola,” Hercules explained.

_ [Pretty!] _

“Isn’t it?” Angelica replied, nodding at John’s sign. “Alright, alright, let’s get this session started!” She turned to Lafayette and Hercules, who were quickly tuning. “Do you two know ‘On Top of the World’ by Imagine Dragons?” She quickly hummed a little bit of it.

“Oh yeah,” Hercules replied. “Good song. We gonna improv it or—?”

“Yeah, let’s try it,” said Angelica. “Lafayette, you in?”

“ _ Oui,  _ so long as I get to start everyone off,” Lafayette smirked, challenge in their gaze.

“You drive a hard bargain, Motier,” Angelica sighed.

“ _ Angélique,  _ are you simply going to choose a different part of my name every time you are annoyed with me?” asked Lafayette, raising an eyebrow.

“You know it, Marie.” Angelica shot them a wink. “Ready, everyone?”

“You two sing,” said Eliza. “I haven't beatboxed in awhile; I should get some practice.”

“Ooooooh, yay!” Peggy cheered. “We all can beatbox,” they explained when John looked at the trio with wonder and confusion, “but Eliza’s the best at it.”

“Aw, thanks,” said Eliza. “Alright then, Lafayette, start us off.”

Lafayette nodded and began playing their viola. A few beats later, Hercules came in on the violin, and then, and then, and then…

The whole piece came together so effortlessly, as though the quintet had rehearsed a thousand times, but when he had raised an eyebrow at Alex and asked  _ [Is this seriously improv?],  _ Alex’s response had been a beaming  _ {yes.} _

A few songs later, Eliza announced that she had to leave and start getting ready for cookie crew. “Hey, we’re still looking for someone to bake cookies. One of the CITs was going to, but she’s feeling a little under the weather. She has a recipe and everything, but someone needs to actually do the baking.”

_ {Want to bake cookies?} _

_ [Yes!] _

“We’re in, Eliza,” said Alex.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, sugar high campers began slowly getting up from their seats and heading away from Monmouth, the first movie of the summer having come to an end.

“Yo, anyone up for Cards Against Humanity?” someone called from the corner. Alex looked over to see that Jess, one of the CITs, was waving from the big table.

“You in for a game?” Alex asked, turning to John. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

_ [No, I am, but you’ll have to interpret.] _

“Not a problem.”

John ended up winning.

_ Fuck you and your audist bullshit, Jefferson. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Lia here! Hope y’alls enjoyed chapter 9!  
> I would like to briefly address the overwhelming amount of positive attention I’ve been receiving since chapter 7, when I said explicitly that Alex and John are autistic. Evidently, I haven’t been clear enough on the fact that this was never my idea to begin with.  
> Let’s say it again: Making John and Alex autistic was never my idea to begin with.  
> All of the credit for that idea goes to my little internet brother, who is now officially listed as a coauthor of this piece. So before you leave a comment on this chapter or any future chapter about how much you love the autism positivity, open a new tab and go to adhdlaurens.tumblr.com and tell him that. Thank him for this, not me.  
> Remember to submit to the Rochambeau CAH competition (details on my tumblr which is unshakespearean) and more importantly, to sign the Invest In Acceptance petition to multiple corporations to stop supporting Autism Speaks! bit.ly/investinacceptance!  
> As always, love and ducks to the Lone Shippers, hugs to supporters, shoutouts to the Autism Power Squad and cookies for all!  
> Love,  
> Lia xxxxxx  
> P.S. The stuff about the word freak is actually completely true and what John said came from a post I made on my RP tumblr when my character’s transgender son was called a freak. Feel free to checkout http://ask-elle-hamilton.tumblr.com/post/142047025322 to see the whole response!  
> P.P.S. I’ve started headcanoning the Alex in this fic as the one played by Jon Rua. Anyone want to draw me fanart of Anthony Ramos!Laurens and Jon Rua!Hamilton?  
> P.P.P.S. Little Internet Brother writes fanfiction too! His AO3 is goatFanatic! There’s a new fanfic up there called It’s Not Sad that is literally the single most adorable thing in the world!


	10. wherever you are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by Lia, but John is still a co-author, and again I take no credit for any of the autism stuff.

_Two days later (Sunday, June 28th)_

If you were to ask Alexander Hamilton what the best part of camp was, what the Washingtons’ best brainchild in designing the place had been, after many minutes of not-so-silent contemplation, he would choose the fact that Washington had made a point of installing a playground, right by the edge of the lake, one that was big enough for teenagers to play on.

The playground was Alex’s solace, his safe place. Many a time during a more difficult moment, he would go to the playground and swing on the swings, sometimes for upwards of two hours. Sometimes he would go there when he was bored, or tired, or not sure what else to do.

Or lonely.

John was in the dining hall, teaching Angelica ASL, and while he had told Alex that he was welcome to stay and help, Alex had always been a shitty teacher. And besides—as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t remain next to John at all times. It wasn’t fair, to either of them.

So to the playground he went. He went the long way around, taking the wood path past the climbing wall and The Barn. Bunker Hill approached on his right—the steep, wooded part of the hill, the part that everyone knew _never_ to approach. There was no fence or anything, but anyone could see that the woods were thick, and dark, and full of roots, and that the hill was steep. No, best stick to the path that skirted the edge of the hill, depositing walkers just next to Princeton.

Aaron Burr, who for some reason was sitting with Jefferson and James Madison at one of the picnic tables outside Princeton, gave Alex a terse nod as he passed. Alex beamed, and then shot a death glare at Jefferson, because fuck that guy.

Much to his own chagrin, Alex was usually one of the only people who really appreciated the playground. It was rare to see anyone else there, save for perhaps a few Juniors, or, more likely, a few Seniors making out at the top of the play structure in the dead of night. It was therefore a complete surprise to him when he saw two figures on the swingset, and even more shocking when he came to recognize Hercules and Peggy Schuyler.

He almost laughed out loud at the stark contrast between the two. Hercules was tall, dark, and muscular, his broad frame making the swing seem comically small. Peggy, on the other hand, was short, skinny, and even though they clearly weren't white and it was obvious when they were with their sisters, falling just in between Angelica and Eliza in complexion, next to Hercules, they appeared pale.

The piece de resistance? They were playing music together. Hercules had his violin, which Alex couldn't believe he could play given the narrowness of the swingset, and Peggy had their little splotch-painted ukulele.

Moving quietly so as not to disturb them, Alex approached to hear what they were playing and singing.

_The sun is bright; our shirts are clean; we’re sitting up above the sea—come on and share this jam with me._

_Peach or plum or strawberry, any kind is fine, you see—come on and share this jam with me!_

Once again, Alex had to keep from laughing. They were singing a _Steven Universe_ song. _Herc likes Steven Universe?!_

_I'll do my best to give this jam the sweetness it deserves…_

_And I'll keep it fresh—I'm jamming on these tasty preserves!_

_Ingredients in harmony, we mix together perfectly—come on and share this jam with me!_

“Bravo!” Alex cheered, walking over to the swings. “I had no idea you guys liked Steven Universe!”

“Are you kidding, bro? That show is the shit,” said Hercules. “It's perfect.”

“True,” said Alex. “Okay, so what are your favorite songs from the show?”

“Definitely Stronger Than You,” said Hercules. “It’s just so _fucking badass,_ and it’s basically like The Theme Song Of The Gays.”

“True,” said Alex. “Peggy?”

Peggy considered for a few moments, and then they smirked. “Tell you what, I’ll play it at campfire.”

———————

“Alexander!”

Alex looked up to see John waving at him from the picnic tables.

“Hey,” said Alex. “How were the ASL lessons?”

“Great,” said John. “Angelica’s a quick study. What were you up to?”

“Went to the playground for a bit, and then to the lakeside to write,” Alex replied.

“You write a lot,” John remarked. “What were you writing about? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Eh, just random things,” Alex lied, thinking back to the trio of poems about stars that were definitely _not_ based on John’s freckles, _not at all,_ and then the analysis of Yeats’s “Adam’s Curse” which definitely did _not_ make reference to conversations he had had with John. He just really liked Yeats, and his experiences at Rochambeau contributed to his understanding of the poem. _Obviously._ “A few poems. An analysis of a poem by Yeats.”

“Yeats?”

“You’ve never heard of William Butler Yeats?” Alex blinked in surprise. “He was an Irish poet and playwright who wrote at the end of the 19th century and into the early 20th. Really incredible style. Had a bit of a superiority complex. Possibly bi.”

“Really?” John asked.

“Yeah. He wrote a lot of love poems—not sappy ones; they’re all really beautiful, although they do tend to involve roping his beloved into his own sense of superiority, which in Yeats’s world is basically the ultimate compliment—anyway, some of those poems were clearly addressed to women, but some of them were more vague, and he also wrote a few that talked about very close friendships with men.”

“And _obviously_ those could only be friendships,” John said sarcastically. “No homo.”

“You should read Yeats,” Alex suggested. “I have a collection of his work with me.”

“I’d love to,” said John. “Thanks, Alexander.”

—————

_A few hours later…_

The sunset brushed across the lake and painted pictures in the water as people began to gather at the fire. Alex and John sat side by side with their feet in the firepit itself, safely away from the little pile of burning wood that Eve had so carefully constructed, just in the middle. Smoke rose in curlicues and floated in the wind towards the dining hall and towards Monmouth, calling campers closer.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

John turned to see that Eve had finished building the fire. “Sure.”

“The fire looks great, Eve,” Alex piped up. “Better than the one Jefferson made on Thursday.”

“Alexander, _everyone_ does _everything_ better than that _pric pwdin._ That’s just a scientific fact.”

John snorted. “Did you just seriously call Thomas Jefferson—”

“—A pudding dick,” Eve finished.

“I mean, it’s pretty accurate,” said John. “He is a dick, and his brain appears to be made out of pudding.”

“Exactly.”

“That is an incredible insult,” said Alex. “I might use that at another time. Translate it into other languages, too. Seems like a pretty good universal insult.”

“It’s a brilliant universal insult,” said Eve. “Anyway, glad you like the campfire.”

“Glad you hate Jefferson,” John replied without missing a beat. They all burst out laughing.

A few minutes later, most of the camp had arrived. Jefferson naturally had to come up to John and Alex and give John a pitying look, which led Eve to quite understandably flip him the bird and mutter _“cer i grafu.”_

“What does that mean?” Alex asked once Jefferson had walked off, probably to torment Madison.

“Go and scratch,” said Eve. “Another good one. We Welsh folks enjoy creative swears.”

“Evidently. Oooh, here comes Washington. We should probably stop shit-talking.”

“Sadly, you’re right,” said Eve. “Ah well.”

By that point, most of the campers were at the fireplace. Peggy and Hercules had just arrived together, still holding their instruments and giggling to each other.

“John, do you know Steven Universe?” Alex asked. “It’s a really gay cartoon, and now that I say that I realize that you almost definitely have no clue what I’m talking about.”

“Not a clue,” John replied. “But now I’m interested.”

“Well, it’s about a bunch of talking gemstones who are all some level of gay and a human kid, and they save the world from monsters and things. And it also teaches about healthy relationships and gender roles and it’s just an amazing cartoon.”

“Sounds amazing,” said John. “Why’d you bring it up?”

“Well, there’s also a ton of music in the show, and Peggy said that they were gonna play their favorite song from the show at campfire. I’m excited to hear what it is.”

“You’ll love it,” said Peggy, apparently having overheard. “Herc’s gonna help me, too.”

“Alright, alright,” Washington called. Everyone looked at him. “Does anyone have something to share tonight?”

“We do!” Peggy said cheerfully, waving. “Herc and I have a song to share.”

“Lovely!” said Washington. “Go ahead, folks.”

Peggy and Hercules shared a grin—or was that a smirk?

“So, I dunno if any of you know the cartoon Steven Universe,” Peggy began. A few people whooped. “Okay, apparently. Anyway, this is a song from that show. For context, the protagonist Steven and his two friends Lars and Sadie are stranded on an island, and this is a song that Steven plays. It sort of takes up a montage kinda deal, in which Lars and Sadie develop a romance. Basically, it’s the shipper theme song, except it’s like really cute and innocent… well, Lars is sorta problematic sometimes but for the most part it’s really cute and innocent. Anyway, here goes. Hey, Hercules!”

“Yeah, Peggy?”

“Could this night get any better?!”

They played a chord on their ukulele and then began to sing.

_Isn’t this such a beautiful night, whoa,_

_We’re underneath a thousand shining stars._

Then Hercules joined in, playing a few half notes.

_Isn’t it nice to find yourself somewhere different, whoa,_

_Why don’t you let yourself just be wherever you are?_

Now Hercules was playing a little rhythm underneath, slowly making things a little more complex.

_Look at this place, look at your faces,_

_I’ve never seen you look like this before._

_Isn’t it nice to find yourself somewhere different, whoa,_

_Why don’t you let yourself just be wherever you are?_

John grinned lazily and rested his head on Alex’s shoulder. This song was pretty.

Hercules started playing a counter-melody as Peggy launched into the last verse. Neither John nor Alex noticed, but both Peggy and Hercules were staring at them pointedly. A few campers were starting to hide giggles.

_Look at this place, look at your faces!_

_They’re shining like a thousand shining stars._

_Isn’t it nice to find yourself somewhere different, whoa,_

_Why don’t you let yourself just be wherever you are?_

At this point, a few campers _did_ start to giggle, and even a few CITs. Even Martha Washington was smiling. Alex and John remained oblivious.

_Why don’t you let yourself just be somewhere different, whoa,_

_Why don’t you let yourself just be wherever you are?_

Smoke painted pictures in the sky as the song ended, dancing to the cheers and the laughter. Even the fire itself crackled in delight. The sun, maybe lulled to sleep by Peggy’s song, finally sank below the water, leaving its legacy by illuminating the moon as the other stars took their places to dance on the sky’s stage.

John lifted his head from Alex’s shoulder and grinned over at Peggy and Hercules, still unaware of what the song had meant. Alex watched him, watched the fire-light around him. His mind drifted back to “Adam’s Curse.”

_We sat grown quiet at the name of love;_   
_We saw the last embers of daylight die,_   
_And in the trembling blue-green of the sky_   
_A moon, worn as if it had been a shell_   
_Washed by time’s waters as they rose and fell_ _  
_ About the stars and broke in days and years.

John turned back to him, the fire still reflected in those twin suns. “That was a pretty song, wasn’t it?”

_I had a thought for no one’s but your ears:_   
_That you were beautiful, and that I strove_   
_To love you in the old high way of love;_   
_That it had all seemed happy, and yet we’d grown_ _  
As weary-hearted as that hollow moon._

“Yeah,” said Alex. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, Lia here! Sorry for taking awhile to update!  
> First, let me make a thing very, VERY clear: Peggy and Hercules’s relationship in this fic is a sibling one. I know that some people ship them; I do not, and since Peggy is 14 and Herc is 17 in this fic, shipping them would be entirely inappropriate. Please do not do the thing.  
> Okay, moving on. So apparently a few Welsh people have been reading this fanfic and liked the fact that I dumped a Welsh person into the fanfic. Confession time; here’s what I got: I’m literally just Torchwood trash and Eve is based off of Gwen Cooper. But, because it made y’alls happy, I gave her a reappearance. Source for the swears I used: http://www.walesonline.co.uk/lifestyle/fun-stuff/21-ways-swear-welsh-much-9557813.  
> Rochambeau Cards Against Humanity is still a thing! I would love to see whatever cards you can come up with! See unshakespearean.tumblr.com for more details!  
> And finally, for the record, W. B. Yeats is my favorite poet other than Shakespeare and I will gladly fangirl over him. The poem that makes me think he's bi is called "In Memory of Major Robert Gregory," but "Adam's Curse" is definitely my favorite of his.  
> Love and hugs to all supporters!  
> ~Lia xxxx


End file.
